Chosen
by notmanos
Summary: PostX3: Logan joins the Angel Investigations group in protecting Bren from supernatural attacks, but he might not be their only target.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: The character of Wolverine is owned by 20th Century Fox and Marvel Comics. No copyright infringement intended. The characters of Angel & Buffy the Vampire Slayer are owned by 20th Century Fox and Mutant Enemy. Bob and his crew are mine, and have retained legal services, so don't touch._

_N.B.: Takes place after X3, and "Wake Up Dead"._

* * *

CHOSEN

* * *

1

You knew it was a bad fire season when you could smell the smoke all the way in Boy's Town. Or maybe he was just imagining that the smog and the exhaust smelled like smoke - Bren just wasn't sure.

It wasn't a good night, and he supposed he could imagine that he only thought he smelled smoke. If things weren't bad enough - and by the Gorgons they were; they were hideous, as bad as they'd ever been - he had to have a huge fight with Kier out in front of Sin. Oh, it was so stupid too. He was stressed out from all this "chosen" business, and Kier convinced him that going out for the night would be "fun", forgetting that this was inevitably more fun for him than it was for Bren.

Boy's Town at night was essentially a meat market, especially on the weekends. Even walking down the street you had guys obviously checking you out, especially if you were young and attractive. And damn it, he was - well, when he wasn't in demon face - but no one ever noticed him if he was with Kier. Everybody looked at Kier; their eyes were riveted to him. And why not? He could totally understand it. Kier was gorgeous; he had movie star looks, and he was eternally young, and then he had that whole vampire charm thing - and no matter how Angel denied it, vampires did have a charm beyond mere mortals. Since Kier had oodles of charm before he was vamped, he was bloody dangerous now. It wasn't Bob level charm, but it couldn't have been, as only a god could have that level of charisma and not be crushed under its weight.

Kier could have any man he wanted, and he flirted as a matter of course in the bite club, but he had made it clear he was a one man guy, and he'd chosen him. Fine and good - Bren even believed this. But sometimes - and oh damn it, this embarrassed him to his very core - he got a bit jealous. Kier just seemed to go overboard with the flirting, like tonight. When the cute Latino bartender at Sin started giving Kier free drinks (which admittedly he mainly passed on to him, because Kier wasn't much for drinking stuff that wasn't blood), Bren just couldn't take it anymore. All the frustrations of the past few days just exploded out of him, and he had a royal shit fit of embarrassingly epic proportions. It was an argument that spilled out onto the street, and he was ashamed at the memory of it. Since when was he such a drama queen?

Bren finally stormed off in a disgusted huff, and Kier was too pissed off to follow him. Bren had been wandering the streets of Boy's Town for a while, being sized up appreciatively by a few men who passed him by, some throwing looks that were obvious invitations. Although he couldn't help but look at them in return, he took none of them up on it. He loved Kier, he really did … and if he was honest with himself at all, it scared the living shit out of him. The only other guy he'd ever loved was Matt, and look what happened to him. Okay, Kier was already a vampire, but he could be dusted, killed just as dead as Matt was. And then there was the whole thing that he only ever really met him because he was supposed to seduce him for Wolfram and Hart, which didn't exactly engender a great deal of trust. Yes, he'd turned his back on them because he didn't appreciate being treated like a cheap whore, but it still didn't offset the fact that their whole relationship had started with deception. It didn't make someone feel very good about the themselves.

God, he felt like such an idiot. Why did he just go off like that? Yeah, he was frustrated and scared, but that didn't give him a reason to take it out on Kier, especially when he was just trying to distract him from his troubles. If he was any man at all he'd turn around now, go back to Sin, and apologize profusely. If he was any kind of man at all.

Apparently he wasn't any kind of man at all.

He dug his iPod out of his pocket and plugged one of the earphones in, leaving the other out so he could hear anything that might come charging towards him. He set it to random shuffle, and the first thing that came up was Alice In Chains' "We Die Young". Ha - was his iPod now like the Way Station jukebox? Layne Staley's raspy voice growled in his ear, _"Scary's on the wall, Scary's on his way -" _Which really was a reminder he didn't need. It was even creepier if you knew Layne had been dead for quite some time, and did indeed die fairly young.

He'd asked Rags if there was any way he could talk to the Gorgons, change their mind about him. Rags said he could talk to them all he wanted, but change their minds? Unlikely. Gods were as stubborn as donkeys, but presumably they smelled better. Well, most of them.

He was wondering about how gods smelled - thinking about it, did Bob have a smell? Oh, now that was going to bug him - but he caught sight of a shadow moving as he crossed the mouth of an alley. He didn't think much of it, as this was actually a narrow side street where guys were known to have a quick assignation or two, especially with the hustlers who worked the streets and bars around here. But when he saw a flash of silver, he knew it wasn't a guy ducking out of a quick fuck but yet another assassin. Terrific.

His X-Men training kicked in instinctively and he ducked the knife as it whipped past his head, but the man who threw it had lunged at him and managed a tackle. He caught him with vice like arms and bodily threw him into the alley. He hit the wall pretty hard, but he'd already let his Brachen side out, so it didn't hurt as bad as it could have.

He barely even saw the next weapon coming in, he just saw movement, but by now he had switched off thinking and just fallen back on everything he had learned - Logan would have been proud of him. He grabbed the man's arm before it even registered it was an arm, and Bren twisted it sharply, the crack of bone echoing off the walls as the man screamed, and a ton of bricks hit him on the head, sending him falling down onto the asphalt on his hands and knees, his head swimming. He saw a leg in his peripheral vision, and he did a leg sweep, taking the guy down. But before he could recover, he was hauled up to his feet by the back of his neck - whoever had him had a strong, cold grip - and someone else grabbed his arms. "Stupid little boy, you left your protector behind," a voice snarled. It sounded either mildly demonic or gravelly Human; it was kind of hard to tell. He was shoved face first into the wall, so he had no idea who had him at this moment. He guessed there were at least four or five of them.

"So who do you clowns work for? The Jotuns?" Bren asked, as if unconcerned. He actually had no idea who the Jotuns were; that had been Giles's suggestion, figuring that most gods, demons, and others in the know would consider it an insult. He really had to ask Giles who they were.

"The Jotuns?" the growling guy replied in disbelief. Oddly, his breath smelled like peanut butter. "What do you take us for, amateurs?"

"Actually, yes," Angel said, ripping him off Bren and giving him a crippling kick to the gut that robbed him of all his air.

"Vampire!" One of the mercenaries shouted, and as one pulled out a stake, someone grabbed his arm from behind and rammed the stake through his own torso. It wasn't in his heart, but damn, from the noise he made as he dropped to the ground - a high, tea kettle whistle - you could easily imagine that it hurt.

"You should watch where you point those things," Kier told him helpfully, adding insult to injury while kicking him down. He was in vamp face, his forehead protruding over yellow eyes and his mouth seemingly overstuffed with animalistic teeth, but damn if he didn't look really beautiful all the same.

Bren saw that these were very Human looking demons, if they were indeed demons at all. Sometimes it was hard to tell, and in a dark alley in the middle of a fight, it could be especially difficult. One of them whipped out a handgun, which seemed really unsporting of him. Didn't these guys like bladed weapons?

Before he could do much more than show the weapon, a bolt of blue lightning shot out and jumped up the barrel of the gun, making him shout and drop the gun in pain, his hand still smoldering slightly. "Since when do you guys use guns?" Naomi wondered. Electricity was still dripping in thick blue drops from her fingertips. There were three guys left standing, all wedged between Angel and Naomi on one side and Kier on the other, and they looked both confused and scared. This wasn't the scenario they imagined, he supposed.

The man Angel had kicked, the one with peanut butter breath, suddenly straightened up with an inhuman noise, and Bren could see his eyes had faint orange glow, as did his fist, which he aimed straight at Bren. Oh shit. "You think you can stop the servants of Letum, mortals?"

Something dropped down from the roof, landing right beside the leader of the Letum. Almost no one had time to register that it was Logan before he cut off the man's raised arm. "Yeah, Stumpy, I think I can," Logan said, grabbing him by the throat and slamming him against the wall.

"How do you know he's stumpy?" Kier wondered breezily. "Have you seen him naked?"

"Who are you fucks?" Logan asked the one armed man, ignoring Kier. "How many of them are you?"

Even though blood was spouting from his severed arm, the leader of the Letum looked not only unmoved, but positively contemptuous. His eyes were still glowing orange, like the interior of a volcano. "You cannot hurt me, vermin," he said, grabbing Logan by the throat. "I'm infused with the power of the divine."

"What a coincidence," he replied, and just from the way Logan's shoulders moved, he knew what was happening.

Bob couldn't be here for whatever reason, that god war or whatever, but he left Logan with some of his power. Bren didn't know how much; no one knew how much. Logan didn't exactly say, although he said he could "handle" it, implying that too much Bob power was hard to handle. It brought to Bren's mind a scary mental picture of Logan in Jean's place, totally nuts and infused with too much power, but so far he very rarely used it, if at all. You could kind of forget he even had it.

Except in situations like this, where they were confronted with some god powered fruitcake. He actually saw a reflected glow from the blue energy filling his eyes, but what let Bren know that the god power was out was the look on the Letum's leader's face. His expression collapsed like a newspaper in the rain, and even the orange glow faded. He looked like the guy who just realized there was nothing behind door number three but an IRS auditor. "Oh shit," he gasped, sounding strangely Human. "Who are you?"

"I ask the questions," Logan said, and his voice had dropped half an octave. It wasn't a god voice exactly, but it was edging close enough to make everyone uncomfortable. "How many of them are you? Where are the rest?"

He could still lie, but having Logan here pretty much guaranteed that even if he tried, they'd instantly know. But just from the look on his face and the fading orange light, Bren didn't think the guy had the balls to lie to Logan right now. "We're … we're all here."

Logan glanced around suspiciously, his eyes still glowing in that really unnerving way. Not that it wasn't nice he had god power he could call up when they needed it, it was just … creepy. In a way. Maybe freaky was the better word. "There's six of you?" The withering judgment was plain in his voice.

The leader raised his chin, attempting dignity, but really it looked like he was trying to blend into the wall so he could escape from Logan. "The world had forgotten about Letum, but we have not."

"You should have," Logan replied, and punched him in the stomach. It was only when Logan turned aside and blood splattered, the leader falling to the pavement in two easy pieces, that anyone noticed he'd actually been killed. "If you wanna live, you have two hours to escape the state. If you're still here after the deadline, I'll rip you to pieces and keep your heads in jars. Got me?"

The conscious ones nodded vigorously, some stealing glances at the body of their dead leader, as if expecting him to regenerate. Even if he had that ability, being killed by someone with god power had probably negated the ability.

Kier stepped aside reluctantly, and reverted to Human face, if only to seem less threatening. But even so, as the remainder of the Letum people snuck off, they had to walk around the body of the guy who'd been skewered on his own stake, so they kept shooting Kier nervous glances.

As soon as they were gone - well, the ones capable of walking - Logan closed his eyes and shook his head. When he opened his eyes, the blue glow was gone. "Jesus, they were a pathetic bunch," he muttered.

"What number was this?" Naomi wondered. "Eight? Ten? I've lost track of all these weirdo cults."

"They're not precisely cults," Angel said. "Well, some of them. Some are just puppets of the most obscure gods imaginable."

"Who the hell was Letum?" Kier asked, crossing the alley to him. Bren gave him a guilty look, grimacing at having to make an apology about being such an asshole in front of everybody, but Kier hugged him, and whispered in his ear, "We'll talk about it later." Bren hugged him back, glad about that.

"I'll have to ask Giles," Angel admitted. "I haven't heard of this one either."

Naomi sighed, and sounded tired. "How many gods are there again?"

Angel glanced at Logan, who simply shrugged, and Angel scowled. Apparently he'd been hoping he had a firm number. "Thousands," Angel finally replied, sticking with the vague number.

"Didn't Bob even hint at how many we might be dealing with?" Naomi asked, this time appealing to Logan.

Logan didn't seem happy about any of this, but he'd actually seemed remarkably subdued since Bob had let him "borrow" some of his power, almost like having so much power had mellowed him out - or constantly keeping a lid on it was exhausting him. "No. He honestly wasn't sure how many would know, and how many would take direct action against this as a perceived threat."

"Let's face it," Kier said, letting him go but keeping an arm around his shoulders. "This sucks. No pun intended."

"By the way, you guys really scared the crap out of me," Naomi said. "That argument was so real, I thought you were actually having a fight."

"Well, I used to be an actor, you know," Kier said, smoothing back his hair in a preening manner. "I was even in Death Of A Salesman."

"In Vancouver," Bren added.

Kier grinned. "In high school." See, that was the set up - they wanted to entrap some of these idiots trying to kill him for being the Gorgon's latest chosen, so he and Kier were supposed to have a big public fight outside Sin and split up, leaving Bren all by himself. He was supposed to lead any followers off, so the rest of them could trap these morons. It was supposed to be a fake fight, but somehow it became a real one, mainly because he was a stressed out, insecure jerk. Maybe he should stop dating men who were so much better looking than him.

Both Logan and Angel gave them looks like they knew the fight really wasn't fake - presumably Naomi knew that as well - but everybody decided to pretend just to let them have their problem in private. Still, Bren felt like a complete idiot.

The Angel Investigations team had been working in shifts, so Bren was with one of the groups at any given time, but Logan was forced to sleep only when he had a moment or two to do so. Perhaps that added to his air of general exhaustion; it couldn't have helped. It was decided that Angel and Naomi would go back to the office and make a note of the incident - Giles was keeping track of everyone they faced, crossing it off on a board like a big flow chart - while Logan would escort him and Kier home. Waiting at home was Saddiq, who was crashing on their sofa to keep an eye on the place when they were gone, to be extra fire power when they were home and if they came under attack (hadn't happened yet, but it had only been a few days), and also to give him a place to stay, as Sid didn't have one. Logan probably didn't need to go with them, there was usually only one major attack per night, but better safe than sorry. Besides, Logan would insist anyways.

Logan took the lead as they walked back, using all his senses to glean if there was trouble ahead or not. As soon as they turned the corner and left the part of L.A. known as Boy's Town behind, Logan let out a relieved sigh. "Finally, I'm not gettin' stared at so much."

"Hey, you're a magnet for the guys who love rough trade and bears," Kier pointed out cheerfully. "And if they saw your abs, you'd be a magnet for everybody capable of seeing clearly."

Logan cast a rather harsh glance over his shoulder, but Kier just smiled at him, all brilliant white teeth and confidence. "I'll try not to take my shirt off."

"Oh please. What about just on my birthday?"

Bren elbowed Kier, even as Logan gave him an evil look, and Kier broke out in a chuckle. "Would you stop? Jesus," Bren complained, wondering if someone had slipped Kier a mickey in Sin. He seemed oddly giddy. (But then again, he'd always be happy if Logan wanted to constantly run around with his shirt off. That was the kind of torso dreams were made of.)

"Eh, we should prob'ly laugh more," Logan admitted grudgingly. "It's been kinda dreary lately."

Logan endorsing slightly inappropriate humor? Was that his exhaustion showing, or was that Bob's influence on him showing? Maybe a bit of both. Nobody knew what effects, if any, that Logan containing a significant amount of Bob's power for an extended period of time would have on him. Not that Logan cared - or at least he _said_ he didn't care (two different things) - but Bren knew that Angel and Giles had discussed it in those rare moments when Logan wasn't around. They knew his healing factor was keeping the energy from doing any permanent internal damage, but the rest was unknown.

It wasn't a long walk, just a couple of blocks, and Kier must have forgiven him, because he held his hand all the way there. Normally such a thing could be dangerous, especially outside of Boy's Town, but Kier was a vampire so he didn't give a shit about gay bashers, and anyways, they were with Logan. Frankly, he kind of hoped some did try and jump them, because it would be fun to watch Logan beat the shit out of them. If there were a lot of them, it might take him as long as one minute to beat them all down.

But of course when you wanted something to happen, it didn't. And who would honestly be stupid enough to jump Logan, no matter how drunk and frightened of someone else's sexuality you were? He had a predator's walk and gave off a "try me" vibe, no matter where he was or when. He carried himself like he knew he could hurt you, and guess what? That was absolutely true. And there was a difference between a man who was full of false bravado and one who honestly knew he could kick your ass. If you had any street smarts at all, you could tell the difference, and since this wasn't a great part of town, most of these guys knew the difference. When Logan headed down the street, they melted into the shadows, trying hard not to be seen.

They had an apartment in a rather run down looking building called the "Mercado", six floors of outer sorrow that gave way, in the interior, to slowly decaying old Hollywood elegance. The apartments were fairly spacious for downtown L.A., especially for the price, and the old Art Deco touches made it a fun place, even though the outside of the building was a grimy grayish color, the paint peeling around the slightly warped windows, the glass entrance doors cracked in a way that would inevitably lead to lawsuits. It was Kier who found out about this place through a client at the bite club; in fact, the old lady who owned the building apparently was a big fan of vampires, but in an "Anne Rice sense" - she liked "fantasy" vampires, not vampires as they actually were. Kier and another vampire "wannabe actor", Alejandro, would often end up acting out these little skits for her. She didn't like to be bitten, she just liked to have this private little vampire story played out for her. The idea of it struck Bren as totally creepy, but Kier told him it was the easiest money he ever made: she kept it PG, he didn't have to bite anyone, and it killed the monotony. Also, he and Alejandro laughed hysterically afterwards, and it was usually the best laugh of their day. And when an apartment was suddenly open, she mentioned it to Kier, and here they were.

Weirdest thing of all? This woman, Sylvia - Bren had never met her. He'd never even seen her; she lived closer to Chinatown. Her son, Harold, lived here instead, acting as the super, and he had no idea Kier was a vampire. Or that his mother hired him to enact Anne Rice-ish fantasies with another guy for a hundred bucks a pop.

They invited Logan inside, but he waved it off for another time, as he said he was tired, which seemed like the most obvious statement ever made. He looked tired; he looked like he'd fall asleep on the sofa if he did come up. Bren wondered if he'd ever get any sleep.

He and Kier went inside, and took the old fashioned elevator up to the sixth floor, which is where their apartment was. It made some distressing rattling noises, but it got you where you needed to go. Finally alone with Kier, he realized he'd have to start apologizing. "Look, um, about earlier -"

"You were such a complete asshole," Kier said, slightly exasperated. "What was that about? I was getting us free drinks!"

"I know, I'm just … everything's kind of freaking me out right now, okay? I don't mean to be a drama queen, it's just that I feel kinda … overwhelmed. I didn't mean anything I said, really."

Kier looked at him askance as the elevator came to a lurching halt. "You damn well better not have." He opened the outer door, and gestured for Bren to go first. He did, almost wondering if he'd get jumped by some sort of jealousy monster.

But it didn't happen. The corridor leading to their room was empty, the red carpet and pastel yellow walls with framed daguerreotype photos looking oddly elegant, the hall smelling vaguely of old paper and recently boiled coffee. Most of the people who lived here were elderly, long time residents who got their apartments when this area was more fashionable, so when it was late at night like this, he and Kier felt like they had the place all to themselves. It was kind of nice.

Bren unlocked the door, not surprised that Sid had locked it - like he was going to make it easy for the bad guys - and as they went in, Kier spun him around and pressed him against the foyer wall. "You're lucky you're so cute," he said, wrinkling his nose in a way that he knew Bren found adorable. It was totally not fair.

Kier kissed him, and he was more than happy to let him. So he didn't hate him? That was a relief. Wow, talk about sabotaging a relationship. Was that what he was trying to do? Was it nerves? Was it something he wasn't even letting himself think about?

Where could this go? He was half-Human, and in line to be the Gorgons … well, something. He still needed Rags to clarify a few things. And Kier was a vampire who'd be forever young and beautiful, and always a potential time bomb if someone figured out how to swap his vampire for another. Also, he worked at the vampire equivalent of a whorehouse. Nothing about this screamed "stable relationship". He just had a feeling he was setting himself up for something.

Sid cleared his throat, and they broke away from their kiss, slightly embarrassed. He couldn't help but feel bad around Sid in situations like this; it almost felt like he was rubbing it in that he had a sex drive and Sid didn't. Of course he knew Sid didn't want pity, and besides, you couldn't miss what you never had, but still, it made him feel really funny. "Oh, uh, hi. How's everything been?"

"No attacks," he replied benignly. "But we do have a visitor." He stepped aside and swept his arm back towards the living room, where someone stood waiting. "Hi," Rogue said, waving as if from a car in a parade.

To say it was a surprise was an understatement. He also couldn't help but wonder superstitiously if this was some kind of omen.


	2. Chapter 2

2

Since he was housing some of Bob's energy, it only made sense that he was staying at Bob's place in the warehouse district. But god damn, sometimes it seemed like a long walk. He'd never learned how to do the Bob teleporting thing, and he honestly didn't know if he could or if he had the energy for it one way or another. He saw Bob occasionally, in mindscapes, but he probably wouldn't ask him about it. Truth be told, as soon as he didn't need this energy in him, he'd be glad to get it the hell out of him.

It did occur to him that he should like this, having this god energy, but it still scared him at some fundamental level and he hated himself for that - he felt like a coward. But no one should have this kind of power. No one should be able to look at a person, say "You don't exist", and make it so. Although, how much nicer would his life have been if that was true? Stryker not existing; Control not existing. He might not even have adamantium in his body.

See, right there was the problem. You have this much power, and it corrupted you. It ate away at everything until you were its slave; at some point, it was in the driver's seat, and you were just sitting back, wondering what the fuck had happened. Was this why Jean went nuts? He could understand it totally. Maybe this was why all gods seemed insane.

Yeah, even Bob, although Bob's insanity had an element of the wacky about it. Surfer jams, feather boas, singing, inappropriate humor, eight thousand marriages. Maybe it was because he was Australian or part Belial demon? Who really knew. But it was essentially harmless insanity, at least compared to what the others had.

The energy was like a constant hum in the back of his head; a sound that was a feeling, or a feeling that was a sound. He felt so tired climbing up the stairs that his legs could have been made of lead. Now normally he shouldn't be this exhausted, even with the little sleep he was getting, but fighting this energy all the time was leaving him wiped. He sometimes felt like giving in, just letting go, but he couldn't, and he didn't have whatever was necessary to let him do that.

Why didn't Bob give this to someone else? Okay, yeah, he was his avatar, but they could have worked out something. Still, Bob insisted that the fact that he didn't want the power was exactly the reason why he should have it. According to him, people who wanted it were the really dangerous ones. Logan was sure that was logical, he just had no desire to follow it right now.

Once inside Bob's loft apartment, he did nothing but take off his coat and throw it on the nearest chair, taking off his shirt as he walked to the bedroom. He should take a shower - he had some blood on him - but he decided to sleep first. The bedroom was dark, and Helga was sleeping on one side of the bed. Not sleeping very deeply, because as soon as he kicked off his boots, she woke up and looked at him. "Find another one?" she asked.

He grunted an acknowledgement and laid down on the open side of the mattress, glad Hel kept the room so cool. "Know who Letum is?"

She thought about that for a minute. "Is that for real? No, I don't recognize that name at all. What was his power?"

"I dunno. Orange energy. Looked like he planned to take the kid out with it, but he didn't get the shot."

She rolled over, spooning him as she brought the covers over him too. "How many pieces were left?"

"Not many. He only had six followers too. Pretty pathetic."

"Six? Fucking hell, that's not a cult - that's a dodgeball team." She rested her head in the crook of his neck, and asked, "Should I mention that I think there's some fire demons in town, or should I save it?"

"Save it," he muttered, closing his eyes to see a dark blue night reflected inside his eyelids. It was like looking up at the aurora borealis, with the only color being a blue as high, pure, and cold as the mountains themselves.

"You hangin' in there?" she asked, her voice only shaded with a margin of concern. She knew if she sounded too concerned, he'd resent it.

As it was, he was too tired to feel much of anything right now. "Y'know me - I don't let go."

And he supposed, for everyone's sake, it was finally a good thing that he was such a fucking pigheaded bastard.

* * *

"Wow, Marie," Bren said, suddenly embarrassed that she'd caught him making out with his boyfriend. (What could have made this better? Oh yeah, his Mom suddenly showing up. Alive, not dead, although that would be mortifying in its way.)"Hey. I thought you went back to, uh ... Mississippi?"

If he got the location wrong, she didn't say. "Yeah, well, ya know ... once you've been to New York, it's hard to go back to a place where the only night life is in front of the Piggly Wiggly."

That made him smile. Oh, the trouble they used to get into back at the Institute. Sneaking out for concerts, for dancing, for drinking, for visits to male strip clubs. Man, it was fun. Well, when people weren't trying to kill them. "Wait'll you see L.A. - if you hit the right places, it's bacchanalia every night."

"If I knew what that meant, I'd be impressed," she replied, with a teasing smile. To go with her newfound lack of powers, she'd cut her hair; it wasn't as short as Naomi's (nor dyed Stansin green), but it was shorter than he'd ever seen her wear it, and it seemed to make the white streak in her hair look bigger. She had gained a pound or two, but she wore it well, even though she was clad in a tight brown scoop neck shirt and jeans, wearing a long, gauzy black coat that was still probably hot worn outside, out of the air conditioning. She wasn't wearing gloves, always a weird thing to see, but that allowed him to see the tattoo on the underside of her right wrist. "That real ink?" he asked. The tattoo was a little rose.

She glanced down, as if she'd gotten it so long ago she'd almost forgotten about it. "Oh, yeah. My parents totally freaked when they saw it. They want me to get it removed, y'know, but I kinda like it."

Kier stepped forward, giving her his most charming smile, and held out his hand. "Hello, I'm Kier, the rude bastard's boyfriend."

Bren rolled his eyes - okay, so he forgot they hadn't met yet - and Rogue laughed, shaking his hand. "I'm Marie, but I guess everyone calls me Rogue. You're real cute. Would it have killed ya to be straight?"

Kier gave her a wry grin. "Funny you should mention that …"

She glanced down at his hand, and said, "Damn, your hands are cold." She then gasped and looked up at him. "You a vampire?"

He nodded. "Yes indeed, although I'm not an evil one. Well, mostly."

"He works at Angel's with me," Bren said.

She nodded, accepting that as a statement on Kier himself. "Well, if Angel and Bren think you're all right, I'll bet you are. You takin' good care of him?"

"Bren? Of course I am. He's my little sweetie." Kier came over and put him in an affectionate headlock, kissing him on top of the head.

Bren scowled at him. "Little?"

"I didn't mean it like _that_," Kier claimed, but he was smiling.

Rogue chuckled, amused by the little show Kier was putting on for her. Again, it was all that excess charm - he could coax the pants off a charging rhino. If they wore pants. Now there was a metaphor that needed a lot of work.

Bren shoved him off of him in a joking manner and sat on the sofa near her, while Kier collapsed in their one armchair. Sid could have joined him and Rogue on the couch, but he chose to stand, as he usually did. Sid could literally stand for hours without moving, like one of those Buckingham Palace guards … but that made sense, didn't it? That was what he was supposed to be, only working for a different palace, and a hell of a lot more hardcore. "So what brings you here?" he asked her curiously. He didn't want it to sound rude, it was just she hadn't emailed him for about a week, which was weird for her.

She shrugged half-heartedly, almost in an embarrassed manner. "Bobby told me that Logan was here in L.A., or he was last he heard. He didn't really know for sure; you know how hard he is to keep track of. Is that true? Is he still here?"

Oh, sure, that made sense. They initially bonded over their mutual crush on Logan, and even though they'd both moved on - and there was an element of awe/fear in it, because if you were around Logan long enough he would, at some point, just scare the living shit out of you - it was still a bonding element even though they had more in common now. The funniest thing about it was Logan himself really didn't care. Boy/girl have a crush on him? He would shrug, maybe roll his eyes and discourage you as kindly as possible, but he never tried to crush you or take advantage of you. For a deeply scary person, he could have strange moments of tolerance and compassion. Maybe that was his true age showing. "He is, yeah. He's helping me out with a thing."

"What kinda thing?"

"Oh, there's a bunch of gods who want to kill him," Kier said almost dismissively, but he flashed him a smart ass grin. Bastard - he knew what reaction that would get.

Rogue's eyes widened and her mouth fell open. "What?!"

So he was forced to tell her what was going on, even though he was certain no good could come of it. She asked the same questions he did, namely was there any way out of it, and if there were any powers he could get out of this that would help him. The answer to both was apparently no.

Rogue picked up her can of diet coke and then almost instantly put it back down on the coffee table, radiating nervousness. Bren got a sense she wanted to help, but didn't know how. "So what good are these Gorgons anyways?"

Bren shrugged, not sure what to say to that, but it was Sid who ended up having the best answer. "They can kill anything they look at," he said, almost admiringly.

Rogue seemed stunned by that. "Oh. Uh, yeah, I can see how that might be … handy."

"So what brings you in search of Logan?" Bren asked quickly, trying to send the conversation off onto a safer course.

She shrugged in an uncomfortable manner, suggesting further embarrassment. "I dunno. He's not good about emailin', y'know, and after everything that happened, I figured I should check up on him, make sure he didn't do anything stupid."

"You were as bored as hell back home, weren't you?" he guessed.

She let out a miserable sigh. "Oh god, I thought I was gonna die of boredom. I didn't think it used to be that bad. Maybe I just got used to people tryin' to kill me … and how sad is that? Suddenly I knew why Logan's so grumpy." She looked at Sid, and asked, "What're you doin' here? I thought you were off with Marcus."

"Marcus is here too," Sid told her. "Logan asked him to stick around until we settle all of this."

"So, uh, do any fun mercenary things?"

"Fun? No."

Bren had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. Sid was so wonderfully taciturn it was almost hilarious at times. Now both he and Rogue had shared a crush on Sid as well, and he still had the great eyes, great arms, and ass to die for, but they also found his halting steps towards socialization kind of endearing. Rogue had probably thought with time and exposure to the ultimate socializer - Marcus - he'd change, but no, Sid hadn't yet. Clearly this was going to take years and years. And she had no idea that he was apparently engineered to be asexual. "Interesting?" she tried again.

Once more, Sid was like a statue. "Define interesting."

She made a noise of frustration, and rolled her eyes. "Sid honey, gimme a break. Do you like it?"

"I get to use my skills more than I did at school, so that's enjoyable."

She fixed him with a harsh, sarcastic look. "Stop making it sound so fun."

He met her look straight on. "I do understand sarcasm, you know."

"I'm glad."

Kier reached up and patted Sid on the arm. "We so need to loosen this one up."

"Please no," Sid replied. "Marc and Matt have tried. I think it just embarrasses everyone."

"Matt?" Rogue asked curiously.

"Marc's boyfriend," Bren told her. "He's a mutant he picked up in Sweden."

"Switzerland," Sid corrected.

"Yeah, well, that."

"What's his power?" She seemed to brighten at this topic.

"He controls water, which sounds lame, I know, but when he brings a big wave crashing down on your head, it suddenly doesn't seem so funny anymore." He still hadn't settled on a code name, though everybody was pretty much referring to him as Tidal Wave, so that was probably his nickname whether he liked it or not.

Rogue looked back at Sid, and perhaps trying to make up for her previous snappiness, she asked him, "You gotta girlfriend?"

Sid still looked as expressive as a statue. "No."

"No? Boyfriend?" At school, they had endless fun speculating about his sexuality. Rogue pegged him for straight, Bren wasn't so sure, and yet in the end they'd both been wrong. Who would have guessed the actual answer was "none of the above"?

"No."

She frowned, a line appearing between her eyebrows. "Well why the hell not? Yer better lookin' than most people I know."

"Isn't he just?" Kier agreed wistfully. "But trust me, it's really complicated, and I'm pretty sure Sid doesn't want to talk about it. Right?" He glanced up at Sid for confirmation, but he hardly needed to. Although he did his best to keep his expression neutral, he was clearly relieved that Kier had stepped in and saved him from an explanation.

Sid nodded. "It's been a long night."

And he hadn't even been on the Letum fighting squad tonight! Of course with a Bob powered Logan, you really didn't need too many people - just one or two to mop up any strays. Logan was pretty much an army of one all by himself, but when you threw Bob energy into the mix, he was suddenly a fucking armada. It was a comforting thought, one of the few he had nowadays.

He hated to do it, but he knew he was going to have to ask Rogue if she had anywhere else to stay, because he couldn't imagine that it was safe around him if you were merely a Human, a civilian with no powers or supernatural abilities to bring to the table. And it was a doubly awful thought, because he wasn't sure he'd ever get used to Rogue being that way, and somewhere deep inside, he couldn't help but think of her as a traitor. It wasn't fair or right of him, as Logan said it was a choice and her choice to make (Logan was big on choices and free will, all of that, perhaps because there was a big chunk of his life when he had none of either), but Bren resented it a little.

Mainly because he knew if he could ever trade in his demon side, he'd probably do it in a heartbeat. But no one ever offered a "cure" for that.

* * *

Logan was dreaming and he knew it, but it was a pleasant dream, so he was okay with that.

He was in the Yukon, but it was summer, when the fields were lush with wild grasses and wildflowers, and it was the dead of night in the middle of nowhere, so it was wonderfully quiet and peaceful. He'd pulled his truck over to the road's shoulder and was sitting on the hood, drinking beer from a thermos and eating an apple. The air was actually kind of nippy, colder than you'd expect for the time of year, and the sky was a bright, unrealistic blue, especially considering it was night - but it was the power, he knew that. It never went away as long as he had it.

But he didn't let it bother him. He sat eating and drinking, enjoying the peace, the lack of Human smells, the openness of the land. Here you could see anyone coming, if not hear them; he couldn't be caught short here. This was why he liked Canada. Sure, the States were bigger and he could get lost in a crowd easier, but did it have these wonderful open spaces of totally emptiness? Places where you could just get lost and almost never run into people unless you wanted to? Maybe, but not quite as wild and rampant at this. And when it snowed, the silence was almost absolute; no Human with any sense would venture out here. It was just him and the animals, and the animals weren't interested in bothering him. No matter where he was, he was the biggest predator around.

He ate the apple down to the core and was about to get off the hood and get back inside the cab when suddenly a fireball streaked across the sky. It was a hot red-orange-yellow, leaving a large flaming line across the sky as the comet cut an arc across the abnormally blue backdrop, but as he watched it, Logan realized that something was very wrong with it. The line of fire seemed to be charring the sky itself, leaving a burn mark across the firmament. What the fuck was that?

He jolted awake, suddenly alert, with a really bad feeling making his gut churn. Helga woke up too, and murmured, "Nightmare?"

"Not exactly," he replied, trying to figure out what it was he'd just seen. It wasn't a nightmare or a dream - he got the sense that it had been … what? A premonition? An omen? For some reason, he thought about that line from Shakespeare: "By the pricking of my thumb, something wicked this way comes."

Yeah, that wasn't very promising.


	3. Chapter 3

3

Logan wondered how much influence Bob was having on him as he made breakfast.

It wasn't like he didn't cook; he did, but usually when he was living by himself in a cabin in the woods, far from places where he could actually grab something already made for him. He was just restless today, still tired from lack of sleep, and yet fully awake from that dream/nightmare/whatever the hell. He was more sure than ever that it was a warning, but did it have to be so damn vague? Fire in the sky; big ass comet. Maybe if he was an astronomer, he could figure that out.

He started throwing a whole bunch of stuff in a sauté pan on the stove, not completely sure what he was making. An omelet? A weird one with lots of vegetables and herbs, and he was always amazed by what appeared in Bob's fridge. He would swear that stuff appeared in it randomly at varying intervals; you could close the door on a shelf with nothing bok choy and a can of beer on it, and then you'd open it later and find a six pack, a leftover pizza, and an ice cream cake that had on it, inexplicably "Happy Birthday Miroslav". But it made a perverse kind of sense - if he had a magic jukebox, why not a magic fridge?

Helga came out as he was sprinkling red pepper infused oil in the pan. "Why do you use a knife to cut stuff?" Hel asked. "You got claws."

He glared at her. "Now that's just gross."

"Why? They go back in you, and your immune system kills off all germs and stuff. They're probably cleaner than everything else." She reached around him and stole a slice of pepperoncini from the pan.

He did not relent in his glare. "Did you just hear yourself? That's disgusting. I kill things with my claws."

She just shrugged, and her tail slapped him on the butt. "Yeah, well, I do lots of thing with my tail. Doesn't bother me."

He simply raised an eyebrow at that, not sure if she was joking or not. It could be really hard to tell with her - she'd been with Bob too long, and had mastered the art of deadpan.

Over breakfast, he told her about his weird dream thing, and asked if Bob ever had premonitions. She shrugged half-heartedly. "He never told me if he did. But he kinda knows everything anyways, right? Perhaps that's just an alternate form of premonition."

Logan really didn't know how that worked, if it worked that way, but he'd have to wait around if he wanted to talk to Bob about it, and he didn't feel he had the time. She told him about the fire demons that she thought were taking advantage of the fire season, as there were oddly patterned fires springing up around the fringes of the city that looked like arson, but unlike any arson anyone had ever seen. She wasn't sure which fire demons might be responsible - there were apparently many - but she was worried what might happen if these idiots were working for a fire god who wanted Bren burnt to a crisp. She was going to get Giles on trying to narrow down who these flaming idiots were. It was possible his "vision" and the fire demons were connected, but neither of them really knew.

It was then that his stomach knotted up, fiercely enough that he had to put his fork down. "Could it be Camaxtli? Didn't he have a whole thing with fire?" Of course he said Camaxtli, but he meant Jean, and she knew it.

"I don't see why Camaxtli would give a shit about this," she assured him. "He'd be exposing himself for no gain whatsoever. I doubt it's him."

Doubt - that wasn't a no or a yes. That was a qualified "maybe". Aw fuck.

He had his long overdue shower and borrowed some of Bob's clothes, although apparently he had a magic closet as well, because he actually found things in his size. It must have been nice being able to warp reality like that, in a way so subtle and pervasive that things just altered to accommodate you. He wouldn't know.

They then headed over to Angel's, Hel calling in to the bar to make sure Lia had a handle on everything. (Lia actually talked to her without hanging up - but then again, Hel was technically her boss.)

By the time they got in, the second shift was mostly there. Marc and Matt were debating with Xander who actually served the best coffee in the area, and a tired looking Giles was staring at the three of them like they were completely insane. He seemed to perk up when they came in. "Oh good, sanity," he said dryly.

"Tea's better," Logan said, knowing that's what Giles wanted to hear.

Marc, Matt, and Xander all groaned in disbelief, Marc shaking his head, while Xander said, "Well of course you're gonna side with the British guy. You're from Canada - Britain Junior."

"I thought we were America's gay cousin," he replied sharply, throwing a previous Xander comment right back at him.

"Hey," Marc snapped, looking at Xander. "What's wrong with being the gay cousin?"

Xander briefly flashed Logan a hateful look, mainly because he really didn't want Marc being mad at him. Was he more scared of Marc than he was of him? Maybe, but to be fair, Marc could paralyze him any time he wanted - Logan could just beat his ass. A beating was preferable to being totally aware of everything but being unable to move or talk. "Nothing ... unless you're the Charles Nelson Reilly kinda gay cousin. Then it's annoying."

"Who's Charles Nelson Reilly?" Matt wondered.

Xander gave him an exaggerated look of shock. "Oh. My. God. How young are you?"

Somehow the three of them had managed to get along, and now made up their own comedy troupe, with Matt unfortunately always playing the role of the straight man (no pun intended). They were unconsciously mimicking each other's wardrobe as well, although Marc still remained the nattiest of the bunch. They were all wearing jeans, but Marc was wearing a black shirt of some material that looked as slick as oil (was it silk?) and looked too hip for the room. Matt wore a pale yellow muscle t-shirt with the phrase "I'm Not Gay - But My Boyfriend Is" across the chest (why did Logan have the feeling Marc bought that for him?), and Xander wore a worn brown t-shirt featuring the Tootsie Pop owl on it. To be completely fair, none of them looked like god killers.

"You know, all in all, I'd rather have a margarita," Hel said, sitting on the edge of Bren's empty desk. She wore cargo shorts and a torn Porcupine Tree t-shirt ... and yet, she actually did look like a god killer. Maybe it was the green skin, or the fact that she was wearing a K-Bar in one of the loops of the cargo shorts.

"My kinda girl," Marc said, flashing her a bright white smile.

"I've looked up Letum," Giles said primly, trying to turn everyone's attention back to the job at hand. He still looked like a librarian in a white button down shirt and tweed pants, but at least he'd acknowledged the weather by leaving his collar unbuttoned. "Mythologically, he's not classified as a god but as a hell beast."

"The difference being ..?" Marc prompted.

Giles did something he really loathed to do: he shrugged. "Rather large, actually, but since mythology is an incomplete record at best, it's possible he really is a minor god, only he was misidentified."

"That probably honked him off," Xander said, stifling a yawn. "I mean, you go through god school, you cram until four in the morning and miss the virgin sacrifices, and yet they put you in the remedial hell beast class for all time. I'd be pissed off too."

Giles rubbed his eyes. "It's too early in the morning for you, Xander."

"So there's nothing on his powers, what he can do, his cult?" Logan asked.

Giles shook his head. "No. We just have to assume we've seen the last of them."

Helga shrugged with her hands. "Well then, let's move on. Surely we have enough gods to contend with."

"Surely we do," Giles agreed.

"Quit calling me Shirley," Xander exclaimed, and grinned like a smart ass.

Yes, they'd all seen Airplane, but they all refused to acknowledge him.

"Speaking of which, we got some fire demons that need i.d.-ing," she told Giles, and the two of them got in a huddle to talk it over.

Logan slumped on the free end of the couch, next to Matt. Matt looked at him askance for a moment, his eyes as blue as the Pacific (which was ironic really, considering his powers), and said, "You look tired."

He sighed, too weary and troubled for sarcasm. "I am tired."

Marc leaned forward, looking over Matt at him. "See bud, I told ya rooming with Hel was a bad idea."

"It wasn't her. I don't think I'm gonna sleep properly 'til this is all over."

There was a knock on the door, and before anyone could respond, the door opened. Logan already knew it was Rags, as he could smell the celery scent of his blood. "Eya," he said, and looked hung over, his dirty blond hair mussed, and dark circles heavy beneath his yellow crystal eyes. Now technically Rags was supposed to be sober, since he ended up in the hospital with alcohol poisoning last time, but he was an addict and it wasn't that easy to give something up, even if it did nearly kill you. "Got sumfing to report."

Thrak squelched in behind him - Rags helpfully held the door open for him - and Matt stiffened and pulled up his legs, as if he was about to climb up the couch. "What the hell ..?"

Marc patted his back reassuringly. "That's Thrak. Don't worry, he's on our side. I think."

"He's slime!"

Thrak gargled at that, and Rags translated. "'e said e'd appreciate it if you didn' say it like it was a bad fing."

"What's up?" Helga asked, getting things back on topic once more.

"Early this mornin', while Thrak was takin' a fare 'ome, 'e saw a bright flash of light somewhere in the 'ollywood 'ills. But 'e didn't 'ear any noise, and you'd think you would if it was an explosion. 'e drove around, tryin' to see if there was a film set up somewhere out there, but there wasn't. An' no one can break down a film set that fast."

"A flash of light?" Xander asked, and he eyed the waist high pile of clear gelatin skeptically. "I hate to be a buzz kill here, but so fucking what?"

Thrak gargled again, sounding like a clogged toilet, and the whole plump pillar of his body vibrated slightly, like a Jello salad on a fault line. Was that how he talked - by moving his body around? Because he had no obvious mouth, or face, or any other recognizable body part. It also occurred to Logan that if he opened up his power just a little, pulled just a bit from the reservoir that Bob had left him, he could understand everything Thrak was saying. But he didn't want to, mainly because it struck him as wrong that he could understand a language that he was physically incapable of speaking. It seemed like cheating. "'e says 'e knows a supernatural light when 'e sees 'em," Rags translated, sounding a bit pissed off on Thrak's behalf.

"A supernatural light?" Giles repeated, looking and sounding intrigued. "Such as a dimensional rift opening up?"

Thrak gargled, and Rags said, "Yeah." Presumably these two things were related.

Logan wondered if what he saw in his dream could somehow be interpreted that way. Dimensional rift? Yeah, maybe. It did look like the sky was peeling up from the burn site, the world opening up. Yeah, maybe.

"Can he show us where this was?" Giles asked. "We might be able to determine what happened."

Thrak gargled for a bit, and Rags said, "'e can show you approximately where it was, but not exactly."

"Good enough. We only need to be in the area to figure it out."

"How are we gonna figure it out?" Marc wondered.

There was silence as an answer, and Logan glanced up to see Giles pointing at him. Oh, yeah. Fuck.

Xander gave him a skeptical look. "You can _smell _dimensional rifts? C'mon man - "

"No," he interrupted testily. "Bob opens dimensional rifts like they're doors to other rooms. His energy will know when one's around."

"Oh."

"What does it mean if a dimensional rift was opened?" Matt wondered. "What do we do then?"

That was a very good question. Luckily, Helga had an answer. "It means we're dealing with a major player. We might be able to figure out who before we have to face them, giving us an advantage."

"We haven't been dealing with major players?" Matt replied, sounding and looking baffled.

"We've been dealing with avatars and chosens," Giles informed him kindly, in his school librarian voice. "None over that has dared a face to face confrontation."

"They're shit scared of the 'oly Sifters," Rags noted.

"So we're dealing with a god who's either crazy or suicidal?" Marc asked. "Gee, that sounds like fun."

"We've done it before, we can do it again," Logan said, but without much enthusiasm. You'd think by now, gods would have a better mental health plan.

* * *

You could hear the muttering from two sewer tunnels away.

It was a strangely elliptical demonic language, the voices responding both gravelly and smooth, and both apparently coming from the same being in spite of the shift in octaves. Angel didn't know the language, didn't recognize it, and in the end, didn't much care. He knew this demon was giving off a feeling of far too much power for its compact, squatty frame - it was an assassin.

It appeared to be a Maski demon, five and a half feet tall with a broad chest and thick, powerful legs, its skin a leathery, mottled brownish-grey, like leaf mold or fungus. It had no hair, and its ovoid head seemed a bit too large for its body, its scalp and forehead all of one gleaming piece, its eyes as big as six pack rings and almost entirely pupil, its lack of nose made up for by a mouth that seemed to extend from one side of its head to the other. It gave the demon a friendly, almost toad like appearance, which was quickly dispelled when it opened its too wide mouth and revealed three different rows of needle thin yellow fangs.

They ate people. Now Humans were the preferred prey, but honestly they weren't that picky; as long as the flesh was warm, they'd take it. They were the gourmands of the demon world. Their skin glistened with an oozy slime which contained a paralyzing neurotoxin, which they used to overpower their prey and consume them alive. Not a pleasant death, but whenever you ended up being digested while still living, it was never a good death.

The Maski was wearing a big Matrix like black trench coat over khaki Dockers and a loud blue and red Hawaiian print shirt. If it could have found a pair of sunglasses to fit its head, it would have looked like any random tourist on Sunset Boulevard. As it sloshed through the ankle deep sludgy water, muttering to itself, Angel detected the faintest yellow glow in its otherwise grey eyes.

He was tired, but he'd gotten a couple of hours sleep. Vampires really didn't need as much sleep as normal Humans, but you did grow accustomed to it, and if your blood consumption was down, you needed the rest more. To try and pep himself up, he'd had three glasses of pig's blood before he left the apartment. He really didn't know if it helped, but he liked to think that it had. If Logan could stand getting by on a few hours sleep every two days, he could as well.

"Froggy -"

"- going -"

" - courting?" The Weird Sisters asked, coming up behind the Maski.

It paused and turned, Angel catching the briefest glimpse of its terrifying scowl. "What do you parasites want?"

The Sisters were oddly dressed as usual, in big Doc Martens and burgundy leggings, with red t-shirts depicting the Russian flag, and waist length silver metallic coats. They'd had their hair cut into shoulder length bobs that made them look exactly sixteen, precisely the age they were when they died. For some reason known only to them, they were wearing gold glitter lipstick. "We -"

"- want -"

"- to rub -"

"- your head -"

"- for luck." They explained, with their creepy, empty smiles.

They were totally off script, but then again, Angel knew he couldn't count on Belinda and Beatrice to be on script. They could do nothing but be strange - they just enjoyed it too much.

Just from his posture alone, Angel knew the Maski was thoroughly baffled. "_What_? Are you fucking nuts?"

"Yes," they agreed in unison, still smiling.

He shook his head and turned his back on them with a dismissive wave. "Leave me the fuck alone. I'm busy."

"Going -"

"- after -"

"- the Gorgons' -"

"- Chosen? Not -"

"- smart."

His big eyes narrowed evilly, and he turned back around, the glow in them more pronounced as he hissed, "How do you know that?"

"We're -"

"- the -"

"- good guys," they said, and were unable to keep a straight face.

Even the Maski assumed they were having fun at his expense. "If you want to kill him first, I don't care. Just leave me alone."

The Maski turned around and started walking away from them again, showing them his back for a second time. That was a huge mistake, but he had to learn that the hard way. Before the Maski knew what was happening, the Sisters had each grabbed an arm from behind, careful to avoid the demon's exposed skin, and placed a foot on his back, yanking backwards just as he realized that they had grabbed him. His arms came off with a sickening wet noise, and he stumbled forward, blood as brown as sewer runoff spewing from the ragged stumps of his shoulder. His mouth opened and closed like a fish that had just been landed, his eyes wide and shocky. "_What the fuck ..?!" _he roared, spinning around to face them.

The Sisters held up his arms like they were bowling trophies. "We -"

"- didn't -"

"- like your -"

"- attitude."

"You bitches are dead," he snarled, lowering his head and stepping forward menacingly, which was difficult for a guy with both his arms off. His eyes were glowing powerfully enough that it lit up the sewer tunnel like fluorescents. The Sisters continued to grin at him, unimpressed and unafraid. Perhaps because Angel was sneaking up on the Maski, who hadn't noticed him skulking in the shadows.

The Maski started to turn at the last second, as it must have heard the sword slicing through the air, but it didn't complete the turn before the sword sliced into him, cleaving his oversized head in two and not stopping until it imbedded itself in a bone in his sternum. The rot stench of its blood and internal organs were overwhelming and slightly nauseating.

"Did you really have to rip off his arms?" Angel asked them. The Maski's body was still standing, even though he was now bisected and the two different sides of him were slowly pulling away under the influence of gravity, but it was very dead. It was an ordinary sword, nothing special, but Rags had blessed it, so now it was sacred and highly dangerous to anything demonic. That included him, so he had to be especially careful in handling it.

"You -"

"- said -"

"- to distract -"

"- him," they replied cheerfully, tossing the arms aside. They landed with a splash in the muck.

Angel frowned at them, which only made their smiles broader. He made a mental note to be more specific in his instructions next time, but he had a nagging feeling it wasn't going to matter at all.


	4. Chapter 4

4

It was a Raymond Chandler kind of day, hot and dry, with a light, warm Santa Ana coming in over the hills and clearing away some of the smog. Logan figured it would be nice if they were down by the ocean or something, but instead they were in the hills, which was nice in spots, and in others just reeked of ostentatious wealth or shabbiness that had never been chic. He didn't as a general rule support random mob violence, but if anyone wanted to have another riot, Logan would have gladly pointed out the towering mansions tucked safely behind high fences, and told them to go nuts.

Thrak led them to a curving road up in the hills, with trees and tinder dry brush on either side, as much of the middle of nowhere that you could get in this part of the hills. Thrak brought his cab to a frighteningly abrupt stop on the soft shoulder, which would have bugged him more if Hel wasn't holding on to the door handle, her tail across his midsection like an extra seat belt. But even he could get whiplash (couldn't he?), and he didn't appreciate it.

Logan got out and stood facing the trees, closing his eyes and trying to let the Bob energy point the way. Even up here, he could smell the smoke of the wildfires down in the canyon, and wondered if this hideously bad fire season was just indicative of California's changing weather patterns, or something that had been supernaturally goosed.

After a moment, he felt … something. It was almost hard to describe, but it was like an urge driving him towards one of the weedy lots. He walked down to it, golden grass brushing his thighs as dried stalks crunched under his feet, and he looked for signs of … something. Ritual or magic or something, some sign of help on this side of the dimension. But he didn't see anything, which indicated one of two things: either these people were professional enough to clean up after themselves, or there had been no help on this side whatsoever. For some reason, he really didn't like that.

He heard Helga coming up behind him, and she asked, "Got something?"

"It was a dimensional breech all right. Something came over."

"I don't suppose you can tell what from where," Giles asked. He was farther behind them, but his voice carried well in the now still air. Just the three of them had accompanied Thrak and Rags up here, as they needed people to hold down the office until Angel and Bren showed up. Marc wasn't crazy about staying behind, but he could hardly leave Xander and Matt - the Human and the neophyte - all by themselves. They always left a heavy hitter behind just in case, and Marc drew the short straw this time.

Logan shook his head, and wondered where the scent of burning tires was coming from. Had some cars caught on fire in the canyon? "I don't think even Bob would know that, not without something more concrete."

"Can you track them?" Giles continued.

Logan frowned and crouched down, trying to see if he could discern the scent from the gasoline that someone had once soaked into the ground here. There was probably a lot of car accidents on this hill. The burned tire smell was growing stronger, enough to make his eyes water, and the power in him started to … what? It was setting off alarm bells, although he wasn't immediately sure why.

"Find anyfing?" Rags shouted from the shade by the side of the road. Both he and Thrak were up there, as far from the scene as possible without still being in the car.

Logan felt a minor tremor beneath his feet, like a heavy truck passing on the road, but the road was miraculously clear, a true rarity anywhere in Los Angeles. Then suddenly he knew. "It hasn't left," he told Helga.

She was looking down at him in alarmed curiosity while Giles, who was still too far away, shouted, "What?"

"We gotta move!" Logan shouted back, grabbing Helga's arm and heading for the road. But they didn't get two steps before the ground seemed to explode beneath their feet, sending them sprawling. Clods of dirt pelted down all around them, and there was a noise like an ultrasonic drill that vibrated in their bones as Logan dared to look at what had come up through the earth.

Basically it was a big worm. Or maybe a snake. Skink? Any how you looked at it, it was a big tubular shaped thing that towered thirty feet above them, blotting out their view of the sun. It was covered with glossy black scales the size of roofing tiles, and its head ended in a caiman like snout, long and full of sharp teeth the size of tire irons. It had five glowing green eyes in a sort of arch pattern over its long, thin snout, and wisps of smoke trailing from its nostrils, while the smell of burned rubber was overpowering.

Wait a second - smoke?

"Tell me that isn't some kinda dragon!" Logan shouted at Helga.

But Logan wondered why he asked, as it wasn't going to make much of a difference. They were a bit fucked either way.

* * *

Luckily Rogue had a room at a really cheap motel, so suggesting she sleep elsewhere wasn't _that _awkward, but she told them in no uncertain terms they were taking her out for breakfast - or brunch, as that was probably the correct terminology considering the time of day. Bren and Sid went to get her, leaving Kier behind sleeping. Not only because he was a vampire that couldn't venture out in sunlight, but also because he'd been staying up around the clock guarding his ass, and he deserved a break. Bren left him a note, though, in case he thought of some way to join them later without getting caught by the sun.

Rogue was staying at a cheap, professionally seedy motel, the type Logan usually stayed at - and he could, because only the terminally stupid would fuck with him. Without her powers, he wasn't sure Rogue could withstand this kind of thing. Hell, Bren was pretty sure he couldn't, at least not anymore. He'd been off the streets too long now, and had probably gotten soft. At least he had Sid with him - nothing on him was soft. Well, except maybe … no, he wasn't gonna go there.

But Rogue survived the experience, although she complained she hadn't been in a place so filthy since this one place on the Canadian border. Bren almost pointed out he'd stayed in worse places, which was true, but seemed petty, so he didn't.

They went to this coffee shop that he knew about, owned by a couple of lesbians who were nice enough but looked like they could seriously kick all their asses without much trouble. It was a homey place, comfortable and not as corporate as Starbucks, and the three of them sat at a window table, enjoying overpriced coffee and rich pastries, talking as they occasionally watched people walk by on the street. She was hoping to surprise Logan, but that forced Bren to admit that he didn't know where in the warehouse district that Bob had his loft. He'd never been there, and didn't know the address. Now that he thought about it, he felt left out.

They were on latte number two, Sid questioning why people liked them so much, when Rogue's glance out the window became a stare, and her eyes widened as she gasped, "Oh my god."

"What?" Bren asked, suddenly afraid a sniper had just spotted them.

"It's John. Over there, in front of the electronics store."

"John?" he asked. "Could you be more specific?"

"Pyro."

Bren almost spit out his coffee, and turned sharply to look more closely at the people on the sidewalk across the way. Eventually he saw him in profile, talking to someone he didn't recognize. He looked much the same as he had when he last saw him, although he now had fiery red streaks in his hair (very funny), and wore these weird leather brace things on his wrists, visible because he was wearing only a t-shirt and jeans. "I thought most of Magneto's crew died when Jean freaked out," he said, suddenly wondering if he had been hired by someone to burn him alive. John might not know that the Gorgons would kill him for it; he probably didn't know they existed.

"So did I," Rogue admitted, sounding as nervous as he felt. "But Logan said he didn't really know how many survived. He just knew that everyone in the base was toast. The ones outside who were far enough away and could run fast enough had a chance."

"Do you think he's here to kill you?" Sid asked blandly.

He had to just say it like that, didn't he? The chocolate croissant he just ate felt like lead in his stomach. "I don't know."

Rogue looked at Sid intently. "You fireproof?"

"Not exactly."

It was Bren's turn to ask, "What does that mean?"

"My skin will be pretty much undamaged by fire exposure, but I'd have to keep my eyes closed, and I couldn't breathe, as inhaling superheated air or flames would kill me just as soon as the next person. Unless the next person is Logan, but that goes without saying."

Rogue let out a little sigh of impatience. "So you are fireproof for about a minute, and you can't see while doin' it. Great."

"Do you recognize who he's talking to?" Sid asked, ignoring her sarcasm. Actually it was better than both of them could claim. Without her powers, Rogue was a vulnerable as any civilian, and even though he was half Brachen demon, he was nowhere near fireproof. Maybe Sid had a minute, but they had two seconds at best.

Both he and Rogue stared at the guy Pyro was talking to, but he was just a random guy, with black hair and a t-shirt advertising the Mustang Ranch. She shook her head. "Not at all."

The guy said goodbye to Pyro and turned and started walking north, while Pyro started walking south. For all appearances, his being here was coincidental. Supposedly. Or he wanted them to see him, or he had accidentally blown his own cover. "We should follow him," Sid suggested.

"If he's not here to cause trouble, we shouldn't pick a fight," Rogue said, sounding strangely cautious for her. Time was when she was the most reckless among them; maybe that went away along with her powers.

"Logan needs to know, in case he wants to start some trouble," he replied sensibly, then stood up. "I'll follow him and report back. Why don't the two of you go to the office and see who's there? Maybe Giles will have a spell capable of shutting John down."

"Giles?" Rogue asked. Had she not met him, or had she forgotten him?

"He's a spellcaster, a former Watcher," Bren told her, as Sid walked away from their table and out of the café. "Be careful!" Bren shouted after him. He didn't know if he heard him or not.

After a moment, Rogue asked, "What if it's a trap?"

"Oh shit." He didn't know if she meant for Sid or for him, but it honestly didn't matter. "Come on, we have to get to the office."

"What? Since when do you abandon a friend?"

"Since we're not only fighting mutants and demons anymore. And I'm not abandoning him - I'm getting back up." Besides, he wasn't sure if he was the target or Sid was, but there was no point in bringing that up now. They were dead or they weren't.

Bren really couldn't express how betrayed he felt. Gods wanting to kill you was more than bad enough; it was totally appalling. But somehow a former so-called friend being a part of it made it all the more hideous.

But John wasn't stupid. Selfish and perhaps megalomaniacal and vaguely genocidal, but not stupid. He had to know Logan was here - he knew what he could do. He wouldn't challenge him. He wouldn't fight him.

Would he? Was he so far up his own ass he thought he could take Logan and whoever else he had with him?

Frankly, if John was that far gone, he deserved whatever he got.

* * *

He had a vague idea where he was: Losangeles. It was some kind of city in this dimension, and he could feel his skin crawling at the strange feeling of the air here. It was warm and dry and smelled of something rank, something tainted and mammalian and chemical. But there was something else too, something that would be unknown to all but higher beings such as himself.

It was a feeling that wanted to repel him, one that made him want to open up another dimensional gateway and go elsewhere. He knew that that was a sign of Bob's handy work, a subtle spell of repulsion that would only be felt by Highers. It was the god equivalent of territorial pissing, a subtle way of saying MINE, even though most gods weren't so subtle. Most owned their dimensions without needing to put up a warning sign.

But that's where this dimension was funny. It was a type of interstitial nexus point that no one would took responsibility for, and no one copped to creating. Sure, the PTB's looked after it now in a half-assed way, but only to keep some of the greedier gods from snatching it up for themselves. It made him wonder if Bob hadn't existed, what would the Powers have done? They'd have had to create him. Fallen or not, he was in essence a placeholder, a guard who also happened to be a convict in a very large jail. He was a prisoner policing other prisoners, although only the warden was aware of it. It was brilliant really; you really had to respect the Powers. They were smarter than most, far more cunning. Perhaps that's where being a group mind was helpful - you could always outthink your single minded opponents.

He heard the high pitched, ultrasonic roar of the beast, and wondered if it had found a snack or the snacks had found it. Not that he cared much - he doubted his target was amongst them. The beast was probably dazed and confused, and it probably felt the repelling field as overwhelming, making it even angrier and more frightened. He felt sorry for it, but he needed the distraction. They'd assume it was the threat, the thing that came through, and it might even kill a few of them before it was cut down. A necessary sacrifice.

He supposed he should be concerned about the Gorgons, vicious little girls that they were, but he supposed they never considered the possibility that some gods were simply tired of existing. Oh, maybe there was some way to kill yourself, but that not only seemed undignified, but … mortal. In the big scheme of things, it was much better to be taken out by others, especially if it was in the service of a noble cause. And this was a noble cause, so much so that it almost shamed him. He was not a noble being and had no desire to die as one.

No, he was doing this because humanity needed a reminder of its place in the food chain, which was the bottom. Between Slayers and Bob's corruption of the gene pool, they were going too far, getting too full of themselves as beings, when all they were was food. The Gorgons decision to promote a half-breed to messenger was simply the final straw. That couldn't happen; chattel weren't supposed to be given access to other levels.

But that was okay; if they wished to be dense, that was their decision. Perhaps if enough of them died, the Gorgons would realize that such fragile creatures were suited for nothing but the dinner table.

* * *

Somewhere over the ultrasonic din, Logan heard Giles shout something, and some kind of energy burst hit the demon's head, making its snout turn towards him with an annoyed hiss. Whatever that spell was, it annoyed it more than it hurt it, but it bought them a moment. "Do you know what this is?" he asked Helga.

She shook her head. "No clue. Could be a demon god of some sort. They're usually pretty big."

"Fuck. What kills it? Losing its head? Its heart? All of it?"

"If it's a god, dismemberment may not be enough."

"Goddamn it," he cursed, getting to his feet and charging it. Because its head was so high, towering above them and still aimed in Giles's direction, it didn't notice as Logan ran up to its chest - or abdomen, whatever, it looked like all of its snaky body wasn't out of the ground yet - and plunged his claws straight into it.

Or at least he tried.

An unaccustomed pain shot up his arm as his claws hit something that refused to give - he had to push with all the strength he could muster to just get his claw tips in a couple of inches. This thing was made out of something almost as strong as adamantium.

"Logan!" Helga shouted in warning.

He looked up and saw why. He had finally gained the demon dragon's attention.

Oh fuck.


	5. Chapter 5

5

It was an odd thing to contemplate: would the chewing or the digestion hurt more? Logan wished he never had to seriously think about these kinds of questions, but he just didn't lead that kind of life.

The demon's big head darted down at him with a speed he wouldn't have credited to such a large being, and while he yanked the tips of his claws out of its chest, he still slashed at it, as that was really all he had. It didn't matter - the mouth closed around him, blocking the sun, filling his nostrils with the rank scent of freshly burned rubber, as he felt teeth sink through his stomach and back, meeting in the middle of him, tearing up organs and tissues like they were nothing. He felt the teeth grate upon his bones, but they didn't break them - the bones or the teeth.

Logan felt the blood leaving him in a liquid rush as he was hauled into the air, heat and darkness all around him, and had time to ponder that this was what it was really like to be eaten by something. Well, gross.

As the blood coursed out of him, he felt the energy surge within him, his vision turning neon blue, lighting up the interior of this big dark mouth. Which he didn't really need to see, honestly - there was nothing new here. He drove his claws upward, into the soft palate, assuming that it was both different than the rest of the body, and the fact that Bob's energy was coming out, giving his claws an aura of energy, would help immensely. Something did, because they plunged right through, making the creature shake its head, jostling him needlessly, and making its clear, thick blood cascade down on him. Shit, it was just like slime.

It was the energy it didn't like, though, and if it was some kind of god or connected to god energy, that made sense. Usually the only way to kill a god was to get another god to do it. He concentrated on the energy within him, imagining it growing around him like he was a star, radiating energy outward. It filled his veins, compensating for the blood he was losing, making him even more dangerous, as hot as a flame. Then he thought _Nova_. The energy thrust out of him in a huge wave, like he was a bomb going off, and reverberations seem to echo through the dragon demon, followed by a massive thud, like it was trying to shake him out of its mouth. But then all was quiet; he just laid there bleeding, feeling the energy roil in him like choppy water. When he felt like he could move, he kicked out some of its teeth and slashed out those that were still stuck in his torso, and started slashing a hole in its jaw so he could get out. Once he saw daylight again, he saw that he was on ground level, and he was glad about that, as it would save him some time.

Once he sliced a big enough hole in its head, he climbed out, only to see Helga and Giles standing there waiting for him, Rags half way behind them, Thrak still up in the shade. "We could have helped," Giles said.

Logan shrugged. "And do what exactly? Do we even know what this fucking thing is?"

"But tha' was kinda dramatic," Rags said.

He had no idea what he was talking about, so he looked back at the thing, glad that the smell was starting to dissipate a little. Besides the big hole in the jaw, it had another hole in it that he hadn't expected - namely, the top of its head had blown off. There was nothing but a ragged gap of flesh where the top of its head must have been before ... what? Even its eyes were missing, or at least part of the exploded muck splattered all over the field. "Huh." He almost asked if he had done that, but yeah, he must have. Who else would have? "I don't suppose it was telepathic? Bob always said he couldn't get too close to telepaths or he'd make their heads explode."

"Did you feel any contact?" Hel asked.

Logan shrugged and shook his head. "All I felt was being chewed."

"Well, the entrée bit back this time," she noted with some pride.

The best way he'd found to deal with Bob's power was by imagining it as something tangible. He'd just imagined it - and himself - and as a star exploding, going nova. Had that caused the demon's head to explode? He had to make a mental note of that for future reference because, while it was overkill, it was actually pretty cool. He had enough power to blow things up - nice to know.

Logan looked down and saw he was still glowing blue, while the big holes in his midsection were still closing up, but rather quickly now. He didn't know if he was surrounded by an actual blue aura or just had blue energy leaking out his eyes, making him see everything in blue. Maybe it didn't matter.

Logan kicked a bit of the demon, just to see if he got a response. He didn't. "Think it's dead?"

Thrak gargled loudly, and Rags interpreted for him. "You blew its fuckin' 'ead up! I fink its done for, and if it ain't, we really don't wanna be 'ere when it wakes up."

That was true. So they decided go back to the office, get Logan a change of clothes, and wait for the next crisis, which shouldn't be too long in coming. As they were walking back up the hill, Hel put a hand on his back, and asked, "You all right? You look like you lost a lot of blood."

"It severed an artery or two, but I got Bob's energy backing up my healing factor. I'm good." Okay, maybe good was overstating the matter, but he was on his feet and walking, which is probably more than most people who'd been nearly chomped in half could say.

She glanced back at the demon, which was still laying there like the world's largest road kill, and said under her breath, "I bet that's why most gods don't give their powers to assassins."

He wanted to object - he'd never been a willing assassin, really, and he hadn't been one since he blew up the Alkali Lake base - but really, she had a point, and what was the point of making a moral objection to her? She'd been an assassin too. And maybe that's what really happened, whether he was consciously aware of it or not: Bob's power teaming up with his unconscious ability to instantly size up anyone and anything.

It was a weird thought, disturbing, but maybe he was more dangerous with Bob's powers than Bob was all by himself.

* * *

Once they got to the office and he got the introductions out of the way, Bren told Marc and company all about Pyro and Sid taking off after him. Marc listened patiently, nodding in comprehension, and after he was done, he said, "We can't do anything until Sid checks in with us."

Bren gaped at him. Was he serious? "What d'ya mean we can't do anything? We need to find him -"

"How?" Marc interrupted, not impatient but genuinely curious. "Logan ain't here to sniff him out. Do you know exactly where he was headed? What part of the city?"

Bren scowled at him. Since when was Marc so reasonable? This was so unfair. "Okay, no. But he might be walking into a trap."

Marc shook his head tersely. "Sid's smarter than that. He was raised to have a sixth sense about set ups. He'll hold back if he thinks anything is the slightest bit unkosher. That kid has great instincts; I've learned not to worry about him too much."

Rogue, who was standing next to the desk, huffed a sigh and crossed her arms over her chest impatiently. "I can't believe you of all people are being chickenshit, Marc."

He grinned at her, flashing his bright white teeth, but the smile was anything but friendly. "You better watch that pretty mouth of yours, Rogue. I'm not runnin' off after a ghost. We wait 'til Logan gets back so he can pick up a scent trail, or we wait 'til Sid calls us. It makes zero sense to run around like chicken with our heads cut off … although you're free to, if you really wanna."

She wasn't crazy about his answer, but she had no choice but to accept it. She was probably lucky that he didn't paralyze her.

"What we need is a plan to handle Pyro," Bren interrupted, pretty sure he was saving Rogue's bacon. "Considering he can make fire dance to his tune, we can't run in without one."

"I have one," Marc said confidently. "Just like rock beats scissors, water beats fire. Can you keep him doused, hon?"

It took Matt a moment to realize that Marc was talking to him. "Huh? Oh … yeah. There's a lotta pools in L.A., and I could always bring some water with me."

"Great. We have a plan."

Rogue fixed Marc with a skeptical look. "That's it? He gets him wet?"

"Yeah. Matt suppresses his fire throwing ability, and I shoot the fucker in the kneecaps. He's out of play."

Okay, Bren had to admit that was a very good plan. John could hardly be prepared for bullets in the legs, could he?

The office door opened, but it was Angel who came in, and stopped short, surprised to see Rogue. "Oh hey. You come to help?"

Bren shook his head and silently signaled that he shouldn't say that, but it was too late. When Rogue looked over her shoulder to see what he was doing, Bren pretended to be scratching his neck. "Naw, it was kinda coincidence," she admitted, turning back to Angel. "But I guess I'm not the only one."

By the time they caught Angel up on where Logan and Giles were, and who Pyro was and why he might be a threat, Logan and company returned. Everybody else looked okay, but Logan's clothes were torn and bloody, and he seemed to be covered in a clear slime that looked honestly disgusting, and he smelled faintly of burnt rubber. It was Logan's turn to tell them a story, of a big demon dragon thing, and of being briefly chewed before going Scanners on its ass. Which Marc said qualified as a happy ending, and in a twisted way, it kind of did. Between that and the thing Angel killed in the sewers, it had already been a fairly productive morning. Bringing Pyro into the mix seemed like a downer, but at least Marc and Matt already had a plan to take him down.

Logan shook his head, attempting to towel the slime off his hair and failing, and scowled in annoyance. "Marc, if your finger slips on the trigger, no one will care."

Marc nodded. "Pyro's expendable, got it."

"Logan, he's just a kid," Angel said, giving him a stern glance. "You can't give up on him yet."

"Says who? He picked a side, and tried to kill some of the kids who used to be his friends. If he wants to play for life and death, I ain't got no problem with that."

Angel hardly looked convinced. His eyes narrowed, and he studied Logan mercilessly. "Of everyone in this room, I think you and I know what it's like to make a big stupid mistake and regret it later on. Doesn't he deserve a chance to regret what he's done?"

The look Logan gave him could have melted coal, but Angel and Logan apparently had the type of friendship where they could give each other shit and be okay with it. "I think the circumstances were a bit different."

"Maybe, but you can't give up on someone after giving them one chance."

"The hell you can't," Marc interjected with malicious cheerfulness.

Angel frowned at him, but Marc only met it with one of his big, sarcastic smiles. Marc generally did his own thing, but his loyalty to Logan was beyond question - if Logan asked him to make sure John was gone permanently, John was so fucking gone it was amazing he didn't know it yet. He almost felt sorry for Pyro, and Bren was pretty sure that was never going to happen. "Guys, come on," Angel said. "He's a kid."

"He's twenty," Rogue replied sharply. "He ain't a kid no more."

So she was coming down on the "death" side? He wasn't really surprised - she really felt betrayed when he abandoned them at Alkali Lake.

Before anyone else could take up the argument, Marc's cell phone went off. "It's Sid," he said, even before finding his phone. So it must have been the ringtone that gave it away. The ringtone he had assigned to Sid? "Iron Man" by Black Sabbath. Very cute. Did Sid know that? "Yeah kid, where are you?"

Marc listened for a moment, then repeated, "Apartment building downtown, on Wexler and Alvedo, called the Merton Arms."

Bren sat down behind his desk, and input the address into his computer. An address shortly came up - with pictures, thanks to Google Earth. "East side, bad neighborhood. Figures. Not far from here."

"Were you spotted kid? Good, good. Fall back to wherever you feel comfortable; I'll get back to you shortly." Marc disconnected, although he still held the phone in his hand. "What're we doin' here? Shall Matt and I go take care of him or what?"

Angel said, "No," at almost the same moment Logan said, "Yes." They exchanged evil scowls.

"Here's an idea," Giles said dryly. "Why doesn't someone talk to him first? Determine if he's here about Brendan or not."

"Without getting burned to a crisp?" Bren snorted. "Uh, how?"

"I'll go," Matt said, surprisingly. It was surprising because he really didn't volunteer for anything - he just followed Marc. Far be it from him to criticize a fellow member of the lavender mob, but Matt was basically just Marc's pretty boy toy. If he had any independent thoughts or opinions, Bren wasn't aware of them. "I'm not scared of him."

Rogue rolled her eyes. "No offense, you're cute an' all, but he doesn't know you, and I think you're underestimatin' him. He went full blown psycho on us."

"You know him," Angel said to Rogue. "Would he talk to you?"

"No way," Logan snapped. He lobbed the slimy towel into the wastebasket by his desk. Was it the slime that smelled of burned rubber? "She's depowered. If he flips out on her, she's got nothin'. I'll go talk to him."

During this discussion, Matt spilled a half filled Styrofoam cup of water on the coffee table.

Rogue now glared at Logan. "Nothin'? Gee, thanks. What about all those self-defense classes you taught?"

"I didn't teach you anything about fighting fire," he replied sharply.

"As soon as he sees you, he'll assume you're there to kick his ass," she shot right back. "He might burn the whole goddamn building down, 'cause he's gotta know he can't burn you enough to keep you down for long."

Matt held his hand over the small puddle of water, which was creeping towards the edge of the table, and it suddenly rose up, and formed a perfect globe of water in the air. Now everybody was looking at him as the perfect sphere of water continued to rise, and hovered two inches over his extended hand, constantly turning like a miniature Earth, never losing a single drop, and Matt didn't even look like he was concentrating that hard. He _had _been working on his powers.

"Whoa," Xander said, doing his best Keanu Reeves impersonation. They were all staring at Matt, save for Marc, who simply smirked smugly, which said _"That's my boy" _better than words ever could. It was no mystery who'd been helping his work on developing his powers.

Looking at them all placidly with his Pacific blue eyes, Matt said once more, "I'm not afraid of him. Rogue and I will go talk to him. If he causes trouble, he won't for long." Matt then reached under his shirt with his other hand, and pulled out an HK handgun, something small, black, and snub nosed that still looked wickedly powerful. "One way or another."

It was weird who'd turn bad ass on you when you weren't looking.

* * *

The firefighters noticed him almost immediately.

They were trying to make a firebreak in a stretch of an overgrown weedy lot that had become tinder dry and a major fire hazard within the last two weeks of drought and heat. A nearly solid wall of grey-black smoke was coming from the burn that was a half a mile away and gaining fast. Luckily, the wildfire was in an unpopulated area, but it was encroaching on a populated area fast, as this was Los Angeles, and there simply weren't a lot of unpopulated areas. You would have also thought there was too much pavement for a really good wildfire like this, but you'd have been wrong.

It was Miyazawa who saw him first. "Isn't this area closed off?" he asked Torres, leaving his shovel in the dirt.

When Torres looked up at him, Miyazawa pointed off into the smoke, and Torres scowled and looked in that direction, squinting his eyes against the glare of the sun and the acrid smoke, shoving his helmet up high on his forehead. It took a moment, but he thought he saw a shadow darker than the smoke, in a roughly Human form. The closer it got, the more it looked like a person, and the more alarming the prospect was. He was somehow walking out of a wall of pure smoke.

"Pierson, get the paramedics," Torres shouted, dropping his shovel and looking around for the nearest oxygen tank. He honestly wished this was a rare occurrence, but between thrill seekers, the homeless, and people who thought they could just "dart in and get their stuff", this kind of shit happened more than it should have. People should have learned - why didn't they?

Pierson and Hammond got there first, meeting the man as he came out beyond the worst of the smoke, approaching him with a spare breathing unit. Torres moved to help them, but something made him pause. It took him a moment, but there was something wrong with the guy, he just couldn't place what.

Until he could, of course. He was six feet tall, two hundred pounds, a stunningly average figure … except his black clothes occasionally seemed to shift on his strangely skeletal frame, like they were something alive, a living cloak of shadow. His skin was white, but nearly bone white; true alabaster, something you'd never see on any living Human. Or hell, even a corpse that had been bled out for that matter. It was a fish belly color, the hue of something that had never seen the sun. And his eyes … they were blood red, like gouged out holes in his head. Torres was not a New Ager or a Buddhist or whatever the hell passed for the trendy religion nowadays, but he would swear that thing was giving off an aura of … something. He had no words to describe the feeling at all, except it made him feel dizzy, and he could taste something like bile and honey in his mouth.

"Get away from him!" he shouted, but too late, as Pierson already grabbed him by the arm and started bringing the oxygen mask to his stark, bony face.

He never made it. Where Pierson had grabbed him, something like a black fungus swallowed his hand and raced up his arm, rotting flesh and muscle along with protective clothing alike. Pierson had time to scream before the fungus raced up the side of his neck and covered his face, rotting away the flesh in an instant. The fungus was still eating away the rest of him as he hit the ground.

Hammond swung his hatchet at the man, but the small axe disappeared in the darkness of the man's frame, like he was some kind of walking void, and then the fungus raced up Hammond's arms as well, digesting him before he'd even taken a full breath to scream. "Chief," Miyazawa said, making it a question.

They all stood staring at the man, who really didn't look like that much of a man at all. He looked like a hellish ghoul, maybe Nosferatu, but those things didn't exist, right? So what the fuck was he?

Torres then noticed that with every step he took, the ground died under his feet in large swatches. Dirt turned to sand, grass turned black and instantly rotted to slime. This thing, whatever it was, was toxic - it was death incarnate.

It looked at all of them with what could only be described as total disdain. And when it spoke, it had a voice like an earthquake, something deep and violent and primal that your mind instinctively tried to shy away from, like something in your reptile brain knew you shouldn't be in this thing's presence. "Don't just stand there like the food you are, you stupid chattel - run."

They didn't have to be told twice.


	6. Chapter 6

6

John looked out the window, trying to make out the people on the street below. It looked like the same random assortment of homeless and hustlers and hookers and desperately lost tourists, the scum and rabble that made up the neighborhood. He had lots of ideas about Los Angeles before he came here, but none of them had actually prepared him for what a shithole this place was.

This place was just like Pittsburgh but without the charm, and had a hell of a lot more Mexicans and gays. Not that he had anything against those groups … as long as they were mutants. If they were norms, then fuck 'em.

He had a sneaky sense that he was being followed home, but every time he looked, he saw no one behind him. John figured he was being paranoid - a problem intrinsic to being a rebel leader - but maybe someone _had_ been following him. If so, they had been really good at it, almost professional. The FBI wouldn't try something, would they? He'd burn this whole fucking block down. Did they really want to play so recklessly with other people's lives?

Satisfied there were no feds loitering across the street or set up in the trashy office building across the way, which he was sure was a front for a couple of illegal companies, he went to his fridge and got a beer, wondering why someone like him had to get so ripped off for rent. Seriously, his apartment was just one big room with a bathroom, and that was it. It was as expensive to live here as it was in New York, but somehow not as fun.

You'd think leading the revolution would get him some perks, such as money, but apparently you needed someone like Mystique to rip it off for you. And damn she was good at that, even though she was creepy. Sexy but creepy. Women like her - hell, soldiers like her - were harder to find than he had imagined. Good revolutionaries were harder to find than he imagined too. He had guys, but they didn't seem interested in doing stuff, or at least politically relevant stuff. Breaking up shit was a lot of fun, but you couldn't just spray paint "Mutantz Rule!" on the rubble and have it mean something. Idiots. Maybe Magneto had been right about that - good peons were hard to find.

He'd just had a swig of his beer when there was a knock on the door that made him pause. Would feds knock? Cops might, but he was sure feds would just knock the door down. He always wore his igniters on his wrists, so he raised his hand as he approached the door, risking a quick glance out the security peephole.

Much to his surprise, he saw Rogue standing in the narrow corridor of his apartment building, with some blond guy standing behind her, his arms crossed over his chest. John scrutinized the guy carefully, trying to identify him. Was he a student from the school? He didn't think so. He was a really pretty boy; he kind of looked like a twinkie you'd see on the streets of West Hollywood. Maybe that's where Rogue picked him up.

Rogue pounded on the door again, and snapped, "C'mon John, I know you're in there! I just wanna talk!"

He lowered his arm and went back to the window, looking out for any familiar faces or jets hovering in the sky. If the rest of the X brats were here, they weren't being obvious yet. "I don't talk to homo inferiors!" He shouted back.

The door rattled hard as Rogue must have kicked it. "Fuck you, John! Open this goddamn door before I bust it down!"

What an empty threat. She was just a girl now; she had no powers to back it up.

Suddenly a male voice he didn't recognize, with an accent he couldn't place, said, "I'm a mutant. Will you talk to me?" Was that the twinkie?

"Who the fuck are you?" He snapped, stalking back towards the door.

"He's a friend," Rogue answered. "Now open the door!"

He wanted to tell her to fuck off, but he didn't get this. If she was here with the X-Men, neither Logan or Bobby would bother to knock. And why would Rogue be with them anyways? She was a traitor; she'd turned her back on mutancy. He thought she'd been cool at first - or at least her tits were cool - but now he couldn't believe what a jackhole she turned out to be. If they were going to have a confrontation, it might as well be now.

"Fine, don't get your panties in a bunch," he snapped, undoing the deadbolt and opening the door. She stormed in, making him step back, and the twinkie sauntered in casually, like he was here to redecorate the place. He was pretty slender, but he had those well toned arms that all the young gay guys around here seemed to have. There was nothing remarkable about him, nothing screaming mutancy - he had a black tattoo encircling his arm and a water bottle shoved in the pocket of his slightly oversized shorts, but neither suggested anything abnormal. "Who the hell are you?" John asked, looking both ways down the hallway before closing the door. He didn't see anyone else, but he knew better than to just assume that meant nobody was there.

"Matthais Gosteli," the guy replied. His tone of voice was so casual he sounded utterly bored.

"Matthais? What is that, German?"

"Probably, but I'm Swiss."

"Well, woohoo for you. You have power over chocolate or something?" That was probably a positive development - the Swiss were neutral, right? Nonviolent. So why was he hanging around with Rogue? He couldn't possibly be her new boyfriend, could he? Even his t-shirt seemed to indicate he was a big old queen.

"What the hell is the MFL?" Rogue asked, scowling at the one piece of art he had hanging on the wall over his broke down futon. It was a black flag with a red x in the middle, and MFL added in white spray paint over the top.

"The Mutant Freedom League," John said.

"What the hell is that?"

"It's like Aryan Nation," Swiss guy said, still sounding bored. "Only pushing mutant supremacy instead of white supremacy. I've seen it on the internet."

"We are nothing like Aryan Nation," he snapped angrily. "Don't compare us to those Nazi assholes." He glared at him, but the Swiss Miss met his gaze with the same casual boredom as it had earlier. What a smug bastard. He was really starting to piss him off.

Rogue gave him a withering glance. "So you've taken up the slack for Magneto, huh?"

"Somebody had to."

She snorted derisively. "Yeah, sure. 'Cause he's so beloved after he fucked up the Golden Gate Bridge."

He considered hitting her, but he wasn't sure what the Swiss Miss could do. Oh yeah, he could fry him to a crisp, but he had no idea what he could do before he could bake him. Maybe he was fireproof. It'd be fun to find out. "Just say whatever the fuck you want and get out."

She glared at him, crossing her arms over her still impressive chest. "Are you here to kill Brendan?"

He cocked his head and snickered. What the fuck was this?

* * *

Angel wondered if there should have been a vote on how to handle this Pyro, but he knew now that it was a moot point. Besides, he was fairly certain the vote wouldn't have went in his favor. He could count on Giles's support for the "do not kill", but Xander probably didn't give a crap either way, and Helga and Marcus shared Logan's rather fatalistic world view, while Rogue apparently didn't like Pyro, and Matt would support Marc. He really didn't know how Bren would have voted, but he didn't want to risk getting burned alive, and who could blame him there? So yeah, a vote wouldn't have helped his cause at all.

Kier stormed into the office, looking slightly flustered. "Why the hell did ya leave without me?"

Bren looked up from his computer, and flashed him a chagrined look. "I thought you could use the sleep."

He clicked his tongue and shook his head. "I don't care. I'm not gonna sleep until you're okay. You know that." Kier walked over to the desk, put his arm around him from behind, and kissed him on the top of the head.

"Get a room," Xander said in mock annoyance.

Kier frowned, wrinkling his nose at him. "You're just jealous 'cause you're not getting laid."

"Says who?"

"You, actually."

Xander looked off into the middle distance as he grimaced in remembrance. "Did I? Oh crap. Well, it's a fair cop, but society is to blame."

"Or women with taste," Kier riposted, giving him a wicked grin. Xander flipped him a middle finger.

There was an odd telephone ring, and Helga pulled out her cell phone. "Talk to me."

Angel was close enough to hear the harsh, guttural tones of a demon language on the other end of the phone. M'grdrin? Helga didn't reply in that language, though; she grunted a couple of affirmatives, and then said, "Yeah, we'll check it out," before disconnecting. "That was a regular named Ru'ulak. I asked him to keep an eye out for anything funky, and he said we should pay a visit to a suburban housing project called Rose Hill Estates."

"Rose Hill?" Xander repeated, surprised. "Aw hell, me and my crew did some work up there."

Angel almost forgot Xander was in construction. He also wasn't completely sure if he still worked in construction, considering how much time he spent here. "So you can take us there?"

He scoffed. "Us, kemosabe? I don't think you're coming. It's still sunny out, and there's no sewer tunnels up there."

"Damn it!" Kier exclaimed. "Man, sometimes being a vamp is a real drag."

Thrak gargled something incomprehensible, and Rags translated, only slightly more comprehensibly. "e says that's up in the 'ollywoood 'ills, not far from where we just were."

Angel and Helga exchanged a suspicious glance. "Maybe the demon dragon thing didn't come through alone," she said.

"Oh bloody hell," Giles said, heading for his office. "I'm getting a better weapon this time."

"Get me one why don't cha?" Xander said, standing up from the couch and stretching dramatically. "It'll be good for me to move. My butt was getting numb."

Bren stood up, and said, "Yeah, maybe I'll get one as well."

Kier grabbed his arm. "You are _not_ going."

Bren removed his arm from his grasp gently. "I can't just hole up and wait for this to get over with. Besides, Logan will be going with us, and if I'm not safe with him, I'm not safe with anyone."

That was an excellent point, and even though Kier clearly didn't like that, he accepted that with a heavy sigh. "I expect you to call me and let me know what's going on."

Bren gave him a weak smile and a reassuring squeeze on the arm. "Right away, I promise."

"I'll go get Logan outta the shower," Helga said, heading into the back rooms.

"We don't have time for any fun stuff," Marc shouted after her. He stood up as well, and turned to Angel. "You guys think you can hold down the fort? I'm itching for some action myself."

Angel sighed, not really looking forward to spending such quality alone time with Kier, but not really having a choice in the matter. They couldn't go outside, and if there were no sewer tunnels up there, they were completely screwed. Kier was right - sometimes being a vampire really sucked. No pun intended. "I think we'll manage."

"I could leave you a gun." Marc grinned, indicating a bit of a joke.

"No thanks."

"Grenade?"

Angel stared at him in disbelief. Was that a joke too? "You don't actually have a grenade with you, do you?"

Marc continued to grin at him, his eyes inscrutable beneath his black goggles. Holy shit, he was packing a grenade? Actually, knowing Marc, he was probably carrying more than one kind.

Giles came out from his office and tossed Xander a battle axe. He caught it easily by the handle, and commented, "Great, my favorite. How did you know?"

Giles fixed him with a scathing glare that really needed no elaboration, but he still pointed at the little white strip at the bottom that was a piece of masking tape, with the name "Xander" written on it in black ink. When did he do that?

"If you know exactly where th' place is, I can teleport us there," Rags interjected, leaning drunkenly against the wall. He probably wasn't drunk, but he'd obviously have had several drinks to even be upright. He felt bad for the guy, even if he was confounded by him much of the time.

"Great. We won't have to deal with traffic," Xander replied.

Logan came out of the back offices with Helga behind him. His hair was dripping wet, and he was still pulling his t-shirt on as he walked in. He didn't look really happy about it. "It's not another demon dragon, is it?"

Helga shrugged. "Don't think so. He wasn't really specific. He just said it was bad."

Logan grunted noncommittally, and still didn't look very happy or awake, but at least he'd gotten the slime/blood off. "Fine, let's go. We ready?"

Thrak gargled, and Rags translated, "Thrak wants ta stay 'ere."

Angel and Kier exchanged wary looks. They were supposed to be stuck with him? They couldn't even talk to him. But what could they say? _"Please take the slime guy with you" ? _And Angel wasn't sure that Thrak was actually a male - or any gender. Did Uggs have a gender? Even Giles wasn't sure, as no Watcher's guide ever mentioned it. It wasn't like they could just ask Thrak either. How did you throw that in a conversation? _"What gender are you again? And for future reference, how do we tell with your kind?"_

Aware that Rags was staring at him, awaiting an answer - he couldn't tell if Thrak was staring at him or not - he shrugged and said, "Sure, fine."

Angel was forced to stand aside and watch as they followed Rags's instruction for teleport. Bren, Logan, Marcus, Helga, Giles, and Xander all reached out to form a line that connected to Rags, as they needed to be in physical contact for this to work, and Xander was directly holding on to Rags, as he knew where they were supposed to go. "Is it me, or does everyone else have the sudden urge to sing The Sound of Music?" Xander cracked. He had his belt looped around the axe, so he could carry it on his back.

"I don't even get that," Marc admitted.

"I was thinking more of line dancing," Kier said, taking a seat at Bren's desk.

Xander scoffed. "We're not wearing cowboy hats."

"Was that an option?" Marc wondered.

"Can we just get on with this?" Logan snapped.

Rags obliged him, saying his incantation, and in a moment they were all gone, leaving him , Thrak, and Kier in an otherwise empty office. Kier looked at him, and asked, "So we can throw a wild party now?"

Even though he was clearly joking, Thrak gargled enthusiastically, squelching across the floor.

Angel shook his head and started towards his office. He had a feeling all of these avatars and representatives were building up to something big, but he should have figured that if it came, it would do so in daylight hours, when he couldn't help put it down.

It was nice to know his luck hadn't changed one bit.

* * *

Once again, Rags's teleportation spell left a lot to be desired.

They popped right back into the sunny hot climes of the Hollywood Hills, and while Logan simply felt it as a minor shifting of reality around him, the others took it a bit harder. Not Helga, who seemed to shrug it off, and Marcus, who just staggered for a moment, then recovered. Giles bent over and grabbed his head, Bren looked so queasy his Brachen side came out, and Xander dropped to his knees, complaining, "I think I'm gonna barf."

"I thought tha' was actually kinda smoof," Rags said defensively. Smoof?

Not that Logan had a lot of time to think about much of anything. The energy in him wasn't sending out alarm bells, it was in full blown panic, welling up inside him and filling his veins with white hot light, ready to be released at any moment. He started seeing things in blue again.

"Holy fuck," Helga exclaimed, but wasn't looking at him. Logan looked at what she was looking at.

They were at the head of a suburban housing project like any other, with pre-fab houses placed on either side of a remarkably pristine asphalt private road. Logan guessed that they'd have seen neatly manicured lawns and nicely bland landscaping in front of homes painted in non-offensive pastels, with SUVs and the occasional sports car in the driveways, with maybe a potted palm or two to distinguish this as Los Angeles. And he was forced to guess what they would see, as right now there wasn't anything but black.

Some kind of black fungus had consumed the entire sub-division - there was no other word for it. A layer of black fuzz coated everything: the yards, the homes, the cars in the driveway, although most had collapsed, rendering their shapes amorphic and anonymous. Some of the vegetation had decomposed to slime, and the sickly sweet smell of rot was nauseatingly thick. He thought he could lean against it.

"What the hell is this?" Marc asked.

"Is this a spell or something?" Xander asked. "What happened?"

Logan knew - or at least Bob's energy in him knew. "A god did this. I can feel it."

"A god?" Giles repeated, confused, looking around as if he was trying to make some sense of all this black death bracketing each side of the untouched road. "Why?"

"You don't think any people …" Bren began, stunned.

"They're slime now," Helga said rather brusquely.

Yes, they probably were; there was a fleshy smell of rot mixed in with the rest. "Why would a god do this?" Xander wondered.

"Because they can." Helga answered. Yep, that was right.

"Okay, who did this?" Marc asked. "And what the hell is this stuff anyways? Is it fungus or something?"

"I dunno," Logan answered honestly. If anything, he thought it wasn't that complex. Yes, it looked almost like blacker than black moss, but there was something else to it, something that wasn't quite physical. It was like psychic residue given form. "Rags, take everyone back."

Rags just shrugged, not all that eager to stay, but everyone else was another matter. "We're not going anywhere," Helga insisted, speaking for the group.

Logan stared at her, at the blue energy now wreathing her face in his vision. He could force them all to go and think it was their idea. Did he really want to sink that low? "He's still here," he told her, sensing the god energy all around them.

If that didn't scare them, it should have.


	7. Chapter 7

7

"Brendan?" John repeated, as if he didn't remember. "D'ya mean that kid at school? The one who turned green and had a perfect memory?"

Rogue nodded, looking displeased. "Yeah, him. Don't play dumb."

John scoffed. "I ain't playin' dumb, sister, you're just not making sense."

"Don't call me sister," she snapped.

Matt watched all of this with a jaundiced eye. Rogue had brought him up to speed on her history with Pyro, and what a traitor he had been. He'd heard all about Magneto and his "brotherhood" before, as he belonged to a mutant group online and kept track of all the big stories. He never imagined he'd be on the inside of it.

Okay, not exactly on the inside, but closer than he ever imagined. In its way, it was kind of weird, mainly because he felt he didn't quite belong here. He wasn't a superhero or a super villain, he was just a literature major who tended bar for a living until several months ago, when a guy who could only have been Wolverine (although he didn't quite believe it at first) sauntered into his bar. He played it cool, as he was sure this was the last guy in the world who'd appreciate someone going all "fan boy" on him, but he was kind of excited by the possibility of meeting other X-Men. Of course all he met was Sid, whom he didn't recognize as an X-Man (Saracen just wasn't as high profile as, say, Storm), and Marc, who wasn't an X-Man and wouldn't be until they started paying annual salaries. But Marc was handsome and fun and slightly dangerous, and that was endlessly appealing, especially to him. How could you not love Marc?

(Apparently some people had answers to that, but he didn't get those people at all.)

He had no idea that Rogue had taken the cure until Marc told him. Why the hell did she do that? Okay, some mutations weren't especially helpful - even Marc had to be really careful about touching things without his gloves on, as he could accidentally poison someone - but still, would you want to give up the one thing that made you special? Admittedly his powers were basically useless, but he'd learn they had their uses, and he never even considered giving them up. Why would he? Useless or not, they were his. How could you just give them up?

"Did I say sister?" John replied snarkily. "I meant traitor."

He knew John had taken one look at him and dismissed him. He was curious about what his powers might be, but didn't much care, assuming it wouldn't matter. But Matt knew that the word had come down from Logan, and was echoed by Marc: Pyro was expendable. So while he waited for John and Rogue to stop bickering like little kids fighting over the front seat, he was using Pyro as a guinea pig. Marc had asked him the other night if he could control the water in other people's bodies, since people were made of over ninety percent water. It was a good question, and Matt didn't know, but this seemed like a good time to find out. While the two argued, he'd been concentrating on the fluid within Pyro's hands. He had no idea if it was working or not, until Pyro unconsciously wiped his sweaty palms - super sweaty palms - on his pants leg.

It was working. Cool. He wondered if he could put out a fire with the liquid from Pyro's own body.

Wouldn't Pyro just hate that?

* * *

Logan reached out with Bob's power, which was always a bit harder than he anticipated, if only because the power wanted to lash out on its own. "Get out of here," he demanded, his voice a low growl. "Brendan's here. Get him out!"

It was as if they'd forgotten he was the target. Suddenly they remembered, and Marc grabbed the kid - still Brachened out - and pulled him behind him, while aiming one of his bigger, nastier Glocks. "Enchanted bullets work on this guy?"

"I don't know," Helga answered honestly. "It depends on the type. Some can shrug them off like mosquito bites."

"Get out!" Logan roared, in a voice that was deep and gravelly and made his head suddenly ache and throb like an infected wound. Was that a god voice, a "push"? He wasn't sure; all he knew was his head hurt and Rags teleported all of them out of there, save for him. He was glad; he wasn't looking forward to this.

"You're not Bob," a voice said behind him. It was like screeches through metal, or claws scraping down aluminum siding. Whatever it was, it was painful to hear.

He turned to face the thing. It was vaguely humanoid but sickly pale, the eyes like bloody gouges, and it was cloaked in darkness that seemed to shift around it like a living shadow. He emanated ill will like a palpable breeze, a taste of rot and decay. "I'm close enough."

The god grinned. He had jagged grey teeth, like shards of granite, but everything else about his mouth was black. "No, you're not. What a stupid thing to do: send cattle to do a god's job."

As Logan glared at him, wondering if he should pop his claws now or wait to surprise him with them, when a snippet of a song ran through his head, Bob's way of communicating: _"Don't it all end up in some revelation, with four guys on horses and violent red visions, famine and death and pestilence and war - _"

Holy shit, was that literal? Was he saying this guy was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse? Was he a death god? Did that explain all the decay? "What do you want with Brendan?" He asked, hoping to narrow down options by his answer.

But the god didn't answer. He just glowered at him with his blood filled eyes, and told him in his painful voice, "I don't explain myself to your kind."

Then he was there. It was a blink, the air shimmering, but Bob's energy felt the twist of reality, the warp of reality around him as he manipulated it, and Logan was able to move before he materialized in front of him. But he must have felt his shift as well, as Logan hadn't moved far enough back, and he was able to reach out and grab his arm.

It was like being grabbed by a heated skeleton. All he felt were bones, supernaturally hot, radiating heat like a fever, and then the burning began. But it wasn't the burning of heat but of acid, and he watched in horror as the black fungus started eating away his flesh and spreading up his arm. But the Bob energy was already responding to it, and even as the pain was sinking into his brain, he felt the stronger, stranger heat of the energy filling the void now forming in his flesh.

He moved in, popping his claws and slashing through the god's midsection … and meeting absolutely nothing. There was no resistance at all; it was like he missed by a mile. The force of his own slash spun him around, and he stumbled back as the god looked at him in what must have been shock. "What has Bob done to you?"

Logan looked down at his arm, and could actually see part of his own adamantium coated ulna through the eaten away patches on his arm. But this stuff, whatever it was, wasn't eating away at the metal, which was a kind of relief. Adamantium and asphalt seemed to be immune to this stuff, whatever it was. And it was then it occurred to him what this guy was. "You're a disease," he said, feeling feverish and delirious with both Bob's energy and his own healing factor reacting frantically to this strange attack. He then ran towards him and at the last second jumped up, slamming both feet in his big pale face.

This struck something that felt like bone, and the god made a shocked noise as he wheeled back, not hurt more than stunned that Logan had actually landed a blow. Logan hit the street and rolled, meaning to land on his feet but unable to manage it in his current state. So this god was made up of nothing but tainted energy in his midsection - there was nothing to hit in the trunk of his body, but he still had physical limbs and a head. He had no idea how that worked, but these were gods; they had their own laws of physics.

"I am _the_ disease," the god stated haughtily. "And why aren't you dead yet, meat? What monstrous thing did Bob do to you?"

The black fungus - the disease - had stopped midway up his arm. It had eaten away flesh and some muscle and tendons, but some of it was starting to grow back in defiance of the disease. Logan got to his feet, half aware that he might be unconscious if it wasn't for Bob's energy. "It wasn't what he did to me, it's what Mother Nature did to me." He made to move towards him, but the god moved first, which was what Logan had been counting on.

He grabbed him by the neck, spreading the black fungus there, and Logan screamed in pain as he still managed to lash out and cut the fucker's arm off. It splattered to the pavement, almost instantly turning into liquid black fungus, and instead of blood, more of that liquid blackness poured out of the stump. With his one remaining arm, he slammed him in the chest, causing more fungus to spread across his torso, dissolving his shirt and the first layer of skin on contact, but as he fell to the street once more he spun around and slashed at the god's nearest leg, taking it off below the knee.

The god overbalanced, stumbled, and fell, as Logan rolled away, hearing, smelling, and feeling his skin dissolve in thick patches, but the fungus was spreading even less over the initial impact points. The pain remained hideous until it totally overloaded his nerves, and then he felt nothing. He already knew from his treatment in Weapon X that at some point, when the pain became too great, his mind just shut it off. He wished it was hair-trigger, but sadly he could weather unfathomable agony before it hit the breakdown point. But finally it had, and he felt nothing but numb even as he saw the skin and muscle sizzle away enough on his chest that he could see a silver slice of ribcage.

"You should be dead!" The god roared, as if personally offended that he wasn't. "Why aren't you dead?!"

Logan shoved himself up to his knees, and watched as blood and liquid black fungus trickled out of his mouth and splattered on the pavement. It must have gotten into his system through the holes it created in his flesh. It tasted like dirt mixed with honey. "You wouldn't believe how much I've heard that question," he admitted, still feeling feverish and disconnected from himself. Bob's energy was the only thing tethering him to his mind and body right now. Without it, he'd be out cold or maybe even as dead as he wanted him.

(Reshef. His name was Reshef. He didn't know how or why, that's just what came to him.)

"Bob isn't strong enough to defeat me, and neither are you, meat."

"The Gorgons are," he countered, sure that was true. He started crawling towards him, as he wasn't sure he could stand, but that was okay, as Reshef couldn't either. "So why don't I just fuck you up 'til they get here?"

"You 'll do no such thing."

"Stop me."

Reshef glared at him with bloody hot eyes as Logan crawled ever closer to him, and Logan felt the energy build up before Reshef disappeared, taking the cowardly way out.

Actually, he was kind of relieved about that. He fell over on his side and just laid on the pavement for a while, trying to figure out which black puddle of goo was Reshef's arm and which was his leg. He breathed in sickly sweet air, and wondered when his muscles were going to grow back. At least the fungus had stopped eating away his skin. He watched his blood puddle on the pavement, mingle with the liquid black, and knew there should have been more. Was Bob's energy keeping him from bleeding out? It must have. He could still see the bone in his arm.

He had no idea how long he'd been laying there, as time was a slippery thing, but he felt a different kind of energy surge, and Rags suddenly popped back into existence, with Giles, Helga, and Marcus in tow. Giles was holding some object that looked like a crystal on a chain, Helga had the sword that Rags' blessed (had he blessed another one, or had Angel given it to her?), and Marc still had the gun with the enchanted bullets aimed out at the ready. Rags had his shirt off, not to show off his impressively doughy physique, but to show off all the scrawls of Gorgon protection sigils.

"Holy shit!" Marc exclaimed, seeing him first. He started coming towards him, and Logan mustered the strength to shout, "Stop! This black shit is consumptive! If you touch it it'll jump to you." He didn't know how he knew that, but he did.

"Is he gone?" Helga asked, as they were all looking around, but mainly coming back to stare at his gaping wounds and patches of black fungus.

"Yeah, he ran off after I dismembered him. But he'll be back, prob'ly whole. He's mostly energy anyways."

"Do you know who he was?" Giles asked, wincing in sympathetic pain and not quite able to look at him directly. Logan could see the hole in his arm and his chest, but he couldn't see the one in his throat. He wondered how bad that one was. "Can you describe him?"

"He's Reshef."

Now Giles looked at him sharply, recognition in his eyes. And it was not a good thing. "Reshef? Are you sure?"

"Who is he?" Marc asked.

"Pestilence," Helga said, and looked to Giles for confirmation. "That's what that word means, right?"

Giles nodded, mute horror in his eyes. Fuck yeah, this was really incredibly bad if you could freak out a Watcher.

"Mate, I 'af no fuckin' clue 'ow yer still alive," Rags said, walking towards him. "You must 'af the constitution of a cockroach. No offense."

"Stay back!"

"I don' hafta," he claimed. "The Gorgons are protectin' me. I'm still their Chosen, and I 'af the poison cancellation sign, see?" He pointed at a black mark that looked like a tangle of snakes, just to the left of his belly button.

Would that be enough? Too late now, as Rags was already close enough to reach down and grab his arm. Rags helped pull him up to his feet, and even though some of the black fungus touched him, it didn't spread to Rags. So here was some empirical evidence that Pestilence - horseman of the apocalypse or not - was not strong enough to beat the Gorgons. But then again, there were three of them; he was outnumbered. Now if he got the horseman band back together, he might have a decent shot.

Rags put his arm around his shoulders and helped hold him up, although if he didn't have Rags to lean on, Logan knew he'd have been flat on his face on the asphalt. Marc peered at him while carefully keeping his distance, and said, "We need to get him to the demon hospital."

"No," Logan insisted. "I can't be taken anywhere where there's biological material this stuff can spread to. It'll eat its way through people, buildings, anything. All I can figure is it has no taste for pavement, adamantium, and Gorgon power."

"Fuck, we'll hose you off," Marc replied.

"The water'll be toxic."

"We can't stay here," Helga pointed out. "So where do we take ya?"

Giles's brow furrowed in thought, and he asked, "Do you think concrete will be immune? I mean, if pavement is …"

Logan wanted to shrug, but he was so feverish and tired he could only shake his head once. "Maybe. Don't know."

"We might have to risk it."

Helga turned towards him. "Where do you want to take him?"

Logan closed his eyes to rest them, but before he did, he saw Giles pointing down at the street. What? What was that supposed to mean? Was he suggesting they take him to hell?

Well hell, why not? He knew it so well, it was like a second home.


	8. Chapter 8

8

It took Logan a moment to figure out where he was. He felt strangely hot, like he was baking inside his own skin, but the air around him was so cold it was bracing and calming. Where was he?

Oh, yeah. He was in the back of his old truck, in a sleeping bag, but he wasn't alone. Curled up next to him, her skin wonderfully cool, was Elena. He suddenly remembered that this scene was supposed to be reversed - she was supposed to be the one burning up, and he was supposed to be the one with the cool skin. Ha - funny. His mind was editing to fit the circumstances.

"Fevers suck, don't they?" He said to her.

She glanced at him sleepily and smiled before resting her head on his chest. "Yeah, they're awful. First time with one?"

"I think so. I dunno."

Her skin was cool against his, and felt good. She curled her body around his, as if trying to keep him from overheating, and he appreciated it. It didn't help at all, but he liked the gesture.

He felt like throwing the sleeping bag off of him and just basking in the cold air of the truck, but he knew it wasn't just cold, no matter how it felt now - it was lethal. It was more than frostbite cold, it was killing cold. It might have been the end of winter, but it was still winter, and you could never take winter in Northern Canada lightly. You'd think you could handle it, and then you simply couldn't. The weather up here took no prisoners. There were only two states: survival or death. No matter how he thought he was baking, the cold would kill him quick. Of course he'd eventually heal and wake up again, but that wasn't the point.

Elena stroked his sweaty hair and kissed his neck, and he sensed that something was wrong. He looked back at her, and found someone else looking down at him, suddenly cradling his head in her lap. "Miss me?" Jean asked, staring down at him with a sharp, sensual smile.

Seeing her was a jolt to his system that he didn't need. He made to sit up, but she kept him down with her hand on his chest. "Come now, I'm enjoying this. You can't say you aren't. You always did have a thing for me."

He glared at her. "Is it really you, Jean? Or should I say Camaxtli?"

Her grin grew sharper, a razor blade smile. "That makes it easier for you, doesn't it? To think there's nothing left of her. To think I'm all Camaxtli."

"You are. I know you are, because I'd never have been able to kill you if Jean hadn't helped me."

"Oh, so that's what you think, is it? Bob had nothing to do with it?"

"No, he didn't."

She chuckled, and Logan noticed the landscape had shifted. They were no longer in the back of his truck, but for some reason on a white sand beach in front of an ocean as green as grass, the sky an odd shade of lavender. Was this Camaxtli's old realm? He thought Bob had once mentioned he lived on the water. "Even after all this time, you've marvelously naïve."

This time he grabbed her arm and shoved it aside, sitting up. The sun pounding down on him was making his fever worse, but that was probably the point. "I'm in no mood for your games. Get the fuck out of my head."

She smiled brilliantly. "No." Her lips were painted blood red, matching her outfit, which was all blood red. From the low cut red shirt to the pants to the fuck me heels, it was all bloody crimson, and so tight it looked painted on. Maybe it was.

Jean's hair looked longer too, and was almost the same shade of crimson as what passed for her clothes. It seemed to be Camaxtli's favorite color.

Logan got up to his feet and started walking away, down the long ivory coast that seemed to go nowhere. It felt like his brain had been pumped full of helium, his head a balloon, but in spite of the illness he could move. He just felt a bit unsteady.

Jean appeared right in front of him, standing with her hands on her hips. "You think it's that easy, huh?"

He stopped before he ran into her and glared at her, wondering if stabbing her would do any good. It was hard for him to think right now, but it suddenly occurred to him that he was in his mind. And not only that, but he had some Bob power this time. What was he waiting for?

He wasn't sure how to do this, but he figured it was probably just as instinctual as everything else. He concentrated, and the beach washed away, replaced by a dark room with a low ceiling and nothing but emergency strip lights barely illuminating the gloom. It was hard to discern, but Logan knew they were in a small, dark room with adamant coated walls, and he was standing next to the room's only true feature, a sort of large portal of thick, bulletproof glass, semi-opaque, not quite cloudy enough to totally obscure the lake water visible outside. "Ooh, is this a dungeon?" she asked teasingly. "How fun."

"No, this is the Weapon X compound at Alkali Lake. Access Jean's memories if you want to know more. And don't think escape is easy, as there are power dampeners in the ceiling."

She scoffed. "Who cares? They apply to you, not me."

"Wrong. They're specially made just for you." And they were, as this was his mindscape, and he now had the power to back it up.

He felt her energy surge, and he put his up in return, letting Bob's energy do what it did naturally, which was build a defensive wall. It managed to hold, pushing back against Camaxtli's energy, and she suddenly looked very pissed, tiny embers of flame erupting in her pupils. "You really think you can scare me, Logan? I'm a world destroyer. This is nothing."

"I'm sure, but this is my world, and you're not destroying it," He popped his claws and smashed them through the portal behind him, shattering it and letting the cold lake water gush through in an overwhelming torrent. "You know what it's like to drown? No, I bet you don't. So let me tell you it's one fucking painful way to die, and I know, 'cause these fucks drowned me once. In fact, they killed me in a lot of painful ways. If you keep comin' back to my mind, we'll go through 'em all one by one. Consider it a learning experience."

The water was now up past their knees, and still pouring in. She looked mostly pissed off, but there was a little fear underneath. "You would kill her again?"

He knew she - he? It? - was trying to rattle him, and even though the comment stung, made his stomach twist, he didn't show it. "I will kill _you_ a thousand times if that's what it takes to make you leave me the fuck alone. Enjoy your watery grave."

He willed himself out of this, letting himself wake up. It was hard to tell he had opened his eyes for a moment, as it was very dark, but the smell hit him like a fist and instantly told him where he was. Son of a bitch.

"'e's awake," Rags reported. "I fink it worked."

Logan still felt strange, but not nearly as lightheaded and hot as before. "You brought me down to the sewers?" He complained, sitting up. Looking down, he saw the black fungus was gone and the holes mostly closed up, but there was a bunch of black squiggles on his stomach. He looked at Rags, who was kneeling on the cement closest to him, and asked, "What'd you do?"

"Put the blessin' back on ya," Rags explained. "The anti-poison one? Seemed to work."

The others were standing farther away, which was a good thing. "Yeah, he's okay," Marc said into his cell phone. "Heard anything yet about where this guy might be?"

"We can't fight him," Giles said wearily, as if this was the seventh or eighth time he brought it up. "Reshef is very old and very powerful. I think even Bob would be outclassed here."

"He is," Logan said, rubbing his chest where the hole had been. It was still a little tender. "As far as I can tell, Bob can stalemate him, but beating him is out of the question."

"Bren's wondering if this really is the Biblical apocalypse guy," Marc said, holding his phone aside.

"Well, yes and no." Giles replied, with a reluctant grimace. "There's no such thing as the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but the gods mentioned were real ones. Reshef _is_ pestilence."

"The Bible isn't real?" Marc gasped sarcastically. "You just ruined my weekend, dude. Does this mean having butt sex won't send me to hell?"

Helga cracked up laughing, while Giles just fixed him with the kind of deadpan stare that only the British could truly master. "Of all the things you've done, Marcus, I doubt that's the one that'll send you to hell."

"Ha! Good one, Jeeves!" Marc replied, giving him a thumb's up. He thought he heard Bren laughing on the telephone.

"We have to stop this guy," Helga said, sobering up. "He could kill the world if he wanted to. The longer he's out there, the more likely that is. We have to have a plan."

"I have a plan," Logan said, dry washing his face. Both the fever and Camaxtli's unwelcome return had given him an idea, although he had no idea how viable it was. Truth be told, he was still feeling a little lightheaded and sore, although the raging fever was gone, and the muscles had grown back, even if all his skin hadn't.

After a moment, he realized everyone was staring at him. "Well, what the hell is it?" Helga finally demanded.

"I don't think you'll like it."

She sighed and rolled her eyes. "I think that's a given, sweetheart. Now what the fuck is it?"

He wasn't about to tell her he was making it up as he spoke, but from the looks on their faces, they had already guessed that.

* * *

"Why the fuck would I want to kill Brendan?" John asked, clearly annoyed. "Has he taken the cure too?"

If looks could kill, Matt had a feeling Rogue would have splattered Pyro all over him. "No. Are you seriously claiming you being here now is a coincidence?"

John widened his eyes comically, and shook his head. "Now? What the fuck is going on now? I've been in L.A. for a month and a half - you wanna see my lease?"

Rogue continued to study him skeptically, arms crossed over her chest, while sweat dripped off his hands. Matt could already see that the leather things on his wrists, which Rogue had said were these igniter thingies so he was never without a lighter, were damp. Could they work? He supposed Pyro would have to try them so they could all see. Pyro wiped his hands on his jeans again, and grabbed up his beer bottle, taking a swig.

Rogue glanced at Matt, and asked, "You think he's lying?"

John scoffed. "You askin' the Swedish Chef?"

Matt ignored that comment. "I think he's telling the truth. I think he's here recruiting for his lame mutant supremacy group."

"We are not lame," he snapped angrily. "What the fuck would you know about it, Uncle Tom?"

"Yeah, I think so too," Rogue agreed, also ignoring Pyro. "What a waste of time."

"What are you X freaks up to?" John asked, still looking pissed.

Figuring they were done here, Matt started walking towards the door, and Rogue followed. John shouted, "Hey! You leave when I say you leave!"

They both glanced at him, and he had his arm raised as if he was about to shoot them with flames. Matt felt the water concentration in the room, and got ready to turn it on John. Rogue either had great confidence in his ability to shut Pyro down, or just really didn't like him, because she showed him her middle finger, and said, "Bite me, asshole."

Anger flared in John's eyes, and it looked like he was about to do something he'd regret, when his apartment door slammed open, making them all jump. Before anyone could react, Logan grabbed John by the throat and slammed him against the far wall. John had raised one of his arms, aiming it at Logan's face, but Logan put his fist right against John's forehead, and growled, "Wanna see who can pull the trigger first?"

It was tense for one second, but John at least had the sense to realize that there was no way in hell he could win, and that Logan wasn't joking about giving him a full frontal lobotomy without the benefit of anesthesia. He lowered his arm and he seemed to go limp, as if letting Logan alone hold him up. He was struggling hard to keep an insolent - not scared - look on his face, but it was quite a struggle, and Matt didn't buy it for one second.

Logan looked extra scary, which was saying something. He was shirtless, which should have made him seem more vulnerable, but his skin was smeared with mud and dried blood both front and back, and he had something drawn in the middle of his torso that looked like a tangled ball of string, or maybe a hairball, but Matt hadn't gotten a really good look at it. He sincerely hoped it wasn't a tattoo, because if it was, he'd gotten totally ripped off.

Logan was right in John's face - they were maybe a half an inch away from kissing. But the ugly look on Logan's face suggested he was more likely to bite John's nose clean off. "I want to kill you," Logan snarled, and Matt felt his own balls shrink at the cold anger in his voice. He was honestly surprised John hadn't pissed his pants. "You can try and kill me all you want, bake all my fuckin' skin off and see if I actually give a shit, but you do not try and kill the kids or the civilians. That makes you an enemy, and that makes you worthless. I am not Scott, and I am not Xavier - I've learned the hard way better to kill my enemies now before they come back and kill my entire fucking family. And I _really _want to kill you. Do you doubt me?"

"No," John squeaked, his face turning red from the pressure on his throat. Even though he had clearly stood down and surrendered, Logan hadn't eased up on the pressure one iota. He seemed to be trembling with the effort to keep from popping his claws, and John must have understood that, because he completely dropped the act. There was no more insolence, no more angry posturing; he looked like a twenty year old boy who suddenly realized he was in so far over his fucking head it was like he was freefalling from twenty thousand feet.

"Do you want to fight me, John? Do you want to die?"

"No, sir." That was the most sincere "sir" Matt had ever heard in his entire life. And he used to work in the service industry.

"You may have one chance to get off my shit list. Do you want to take it?"

"What -"

"You don't ask. You say yes or no now. Make your choice."

Logan was the best negotiator he had ever seen. _'Agree with me or die horribly'_. It was a Mexican standoff between a guy armed with a rocket launcher and a guy armed with a throw pillow.

That poor kid had no fucking choice at all, and from the hopelessness in his eyes, he knew it. "Y-yes."

"Yes what?"

It seemed to take him a moment to realize what it was Logan wanted him to say. Maybe it was oxygen deprivation to the brain. "Yes, I want a chance."

Logan eased the pressure on his throat, but didn't move the fist planted against his forehead. It kept John pinned against the wall. "I can't go back to the X-Men," John said, his voice oddly small and miserable.

Logan scoffed and sneered. "We don't want you back."

John looked hurt, although he tried to cover it up. Even bad guys didn't like to be rejected. "What the hell is it you want from me?"

"We need a fire thrower. What I need you to do is follow my orders without question, and if you do everything I say and don't turn on us, I'll let you walk away with your life. This time. You try and screw me and I will fucking dismember you and make you watch. And believe me, I can do it."

"You can't trust him," Rogue protested.

"Yes I can," Logan said. "Can't I, John? You're gonna do everything I say and be a good boy because you don't want to die. Yes?"

That's when Matt realized that Logan's eyes had a slight blue glow to them, reflected in John's eyes, which seemed a little glassy.

Rogue gasped. "Did you just push him? You pushed him!"

Matt didn't get that immediately, but then he remembered that Bob - whom he hadn't met, but had heard all sorts of wild stories about - was said to occasionally mentally "push" people, which was apparently some form of telepathic manipulation, only it wasn't telepathy. He didn't really understand how it worked, but he took some comfort in the fact that no one seemed to understand it. He just said something and suddenly it was true. Had Logan inherited that with Bob's power? Cool.

Logan looked at Rogue, and there was still just a fragment of blue energy deep within his pupils. "You do what you gotta do." He took his fist away from John's head, and he stood there for a moment, as if not sure what he was supposed to do. But then he shook his head, like he'd caught himself before he nodded off, and straightened out his rumpled shirt, grasping futilely for some small shred of dignity.

"So, ya lost your shirt again." Rogue said to Logan. He frowned at her. "What? I'm not complainin'."

Matt wanted to agree, but he just didn't know Logan well enough to do so. But, at least for a macho guy, he was refreshingly non-homophobic. He really didn't care who anybody slept with, and considering the gentle tolerance he showed towards Brendan, he didn't care who had a crush on him either.

"So how are things in Fun City?" Marc asked from the doorway.

"We've got it all control," Logan said casually.

John stared at him in shock. "You're here too?"

Marc grinned at him in that way of his, like a shark just before he chomped your leg off. "Uh huh. And I'm gonna be watching your back, John-John. Soon as I see a flicker of a flame when it's not called for, you're getting an armor piercing slug in the brain stem. Capisce?"

If John wasn't oozing flop sweat before - and he was - he was really doing so now. "What'd I ever do to you?"

Marc shrugged. "Nothin'. But I'm not giving you the chance." He patted the area under his left arm, where he was obviously carrying one of his firearms.

"What's goin' on?" Rogue asked, turning to Logan. "Why do you need John?"

Logan considered his answer before giving it, but must have decided it didn't matter. "'Cause we're gonna need some precision fire to burn off the plague. We're adopting a scorched earth policy."

"The plague?" Rogue asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

John scoffed. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Oh, c'mon," Marc said, with his usual boisterous enthusiasm. "It ain't every day you get to fight one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse."

Matt looked at him with a silent question, and Marc gave him a single nod.

No way - he couldn't be serious.


	9. Chapter 9

9

John wondered, not for the first time, if the Swiss Miss was a telepath.

It would explain why he was going along with all of this. He did wonder, and you had to wonder why you were playing along with something when you really didn't want to, yet couldn't quite stop yourself. Of course he had no doubt that Logan would kill him if he tried anything, and if half the stories Mystique had told him about Logan were true, he had real reason to believe that he could bake him to his skeleton and Logan would still manage to come back and kill him. He couldn't risk fucking with him, could he?

That was always odd. Even though he had problems with all the X freaks, he felt he understood Logan the most. He didn't fuck around - you try and kill him, he'd do you first. The others would just smack you around, but no matter how much they kicked your ass, you couldn't work up a big fear of them. But Logan could genuinely fucking kill you, and therefore it was easy to be afraid of him, even though his power was honestly minor and not that impressive by itself. He couldn't zap you with laser eyes or mindfuck you stupid or control the weather - he could heal. Big fucking whoop. Who knew he'd be the one you always had to keep an eye on?

Magneto didn't think so. He thought Logan was nothing but a thug, and a manipulated thug at that, brought in by Xavier to do all the dirty work so he could keep his hands clean. It was one of the few things Magneto and Mystique openly disagreed about. Oh, she thought he was Xavier's clean up artist, but she didn't think he was just a dumb thug; in her opinion, he was smarter than he looked. (Magneto's answer to that was always an amused, "Well he'd have to be, wouldn't he?") According to her, you dismissed Logan at your own peril - the minute you figured he was down and out for good was the second before he showed up and ruined everything. For some reason, she usually referred to him as the "old man", and told stories about him that hinted at a shared past between them that Logan seemed to have no clue about, and she seemed to admire him, in a strange kind of way. Mystique seemed to know him, and yet Logan seemed not to know her at all. Magneto treated Mystique's stories about her and Logan fighting over the years as so much trivia, but it was really weird - it was like Mystique considered her and Logan trying to kill each other as a type of flirting. Maybe she did, and frankly that was even freakier. She was a really scary, creepy chick … making her and Logan an oddly perfect match, now that he thought about it.

But why was he going along with this? John didn't even understand it. They kept talking about this guy like he was one of the four horsemen of the apocalypse, but from what he could tell, this guy was a mutant named Pestilence, and he wanted to kill Brendan for … some reason, that really wasn't clear. They thought he'd kill a lot more in the meantime, though, just because he could. If Logan could be believed, this guy killed shit by just showing up. He shed a black fungus that dissolved everything, or something like that. There was lots of talk of gods and demons and shit, but John knew they were fucking with him. Maybe just to see how gullible he was.

There were a couple of distressing developments. Sid joined them, and he wasn't sure if Sid could even be burned; his skin was bulletproof, right? He was also some kind of fucking Human martial arts computer. He never wanted to fight Sid ever, because he knew he'd kick his ass. Hell, Sid could probably kick Logan's ass, if he didn't have those claws. If Sid was honestly fireproof, then he was completely fucked.

The second bad thing was Marc and the Swiss Miss seemed rather cuddly. So they were a couple? Frankly, ick. He had nothing against gays personally, but he didn't want to see that shit up close. The problem here was that unless Marc just went for a pretty boy toy - possible; he didn't know Marc well enough to even venture a guess - he had to reclassify the Swiss Miss as possibly dangerous. He didn't look it, but if he was a telepath or something, he wouldn't even have a chance to fight. He _really _didn't like telepaths - they took the fairness out of things.

And Marc's boyfriend kept looking at him. Not in a flirty way (as far as he could tell), but as if daring him to make a move. John thought some really nasty things in his direction, but if he was a teep, he either ignored him or didn't care.

Then there was the third problem, that if he managed to get a jump on Switzerland there, Marc would kill his ass. Like Logan, he didn't fuck around, but unlike Logan, the guy packed guns he wasn't afraid to use with an accuracy that would make most snipers jealous. Or he could just paralyze him with his toxin and do whatever the hell he wanted with him 'til it wore off, which seemed worse somehow. Leave it to Logan to have morally dubious friends who would probably be better villains. He considered trying to fuck with Logan by asking about his wife - Mystique said he used to be married to this Japanese chick (a bit of a mindblower - Logan _married_? Seriously? He couldn't imagine that … and what kind of woman would marry Logan? That was really hard to imagine …) - but the more he thought about it, the more he realized that pissing off Logan might not be the best strategy right now. Yeah, he needed him alive, but not necessarily in one piece.

The group took him back to this office, "Angel Investigations", where a whole buttload of weirdoes was waiting for them. He knew Angel by name if not by sight, and he had no idea what his power was, except he had something weird. Then there was Bren, of course, although his physical strength when he went all green and spiky was bound to be more of a help than his perfect recall. The others he didn't know at all - a pretty boy who seemed to be friendly with Bren, a woman who was probably too old for the bright blue hair she was sporting, a guy who apparently thought he was hilarious, an old British guy (what was he doing here?), and a handful of really freaky looking mutants: one chick was all green and had a tail that twitched like a cat's when she talked (she was still pretty hot looking, though), a guy with an almost impenetrable accent and yellow glass eyes (how could he see out of those?), and the saddest sack of shit he had ever seen, a guy who was just a pile of clear slime. He gargled instead of talked, but the guy with glass eyes seemed to understand him. Wow, mutations could be a mixed bag, couldn't they? He couldn't imagine what the evolutionary benefits of being a small blob of clear slime was.

They were discussing as a group how to find this Pestilence guy and how best to confront him - and Logan finally put on a shirt - and when the question came up about whether they could trust him (yeah, like _he_ was the biggest weirdo in the room), Rogue said Logan had pushed him. What the fuck ..? No he hadn't! Threatened him, choked him, pinned him against the wall, sure, but he never pushed him. What was that about?

The sun was starting to set, which for some reason was important to them. Logan explained that he was the only one who could engage the guy in a direct fight, but he didn't think it would last long, as he figured that Pestilence wouldn't bother with him since he already knew that the fight would be a stalemate. Which was a no-brainer - Logan had a healing factor! So of course a fight with a guy named Pestilence would be a stalemate. _Duh._

His role in this was to burn off all the black fungus this guy produced as soon as he saw it, and try not to burn up anything else. The old British guy - apparently named Giles - and Angel were concerned other unintended things could catch fire, which led the Swiss Miss - Matt - to say, "It won't happen. I guarantee it."

How could he guarantee it? If he had fire powers too, why did they need him?

John wasn't completely sure what the fuck was going on. But this was about a thousand shades of wrong.

* * *

John spent most of his time in sullen silence, looking at everyone suspiciously, but Logan didn't give a shit, as long as the push stuck. And it seemed to be holding for now.

The plan they worked out Logan wasn't crazy about, even though most of it was his idea, because it relied so much on other people. He was basically distraction, nothing more, but then again they needed lots of distraction if this was going to work. If Reshef got an inkling of what they were really up to, he'd probably run for the hills.

Rags had to draw anti-poisoning symbols on everybody who might be engaged by him, which was a bit of a pain, especially when it came to John, as he thought it was some kind of joke. He thought they were all mutants, and the mention of magic made him think they were all taking the piss. That was fine, because it was easier than actually explaining it to him.

After that, Rags, Giles, and Helga went off on their own, as she knew of at least one trick in Bob's "annoy the gods" arsenal that might work on Reshef. Of course it was equally possible that it wouldn't, but they had to give it a shot.

It was up to him to find Reshef when they were ready, and much like the push, this was something he hadn't done before. But he closed his eyes and reached out with his mind, letting Bob's power spread out from him like a net. It was an odd thing, but in his mind, with his power, the world was rendered this textural map of energy signatures and lines, dark spots where previous dimensional incursions had taken place, weak dimensional spots as livid as bloody wounds, and Reshef's power tugged at him like a bright light must have pulled at a moth. He was a spot of palpable energy, and yet completely wrong; he was a dark, ugly purple, a deep contusion that throbbed with bad energy that somehow seemed tainted. He was like a spotlight of pure malevolence. It made him wonder if Reshef could find him so easily, and he bet that was true.

It was Rags who came back and teleported them just outside of where Reshef now was, which was downtown, within two blocks of the Church of the Stone Temple. Coincidence? Unlikely. Logan asked Rags and Giles both if Reshef had anything against the Gorgons, but they were both stumped. As far as they knew, no, but did anyone know what all went on between gods? Well, maybe Bob, but if Bob had some knowledge of it it hadn't transferred to him.

The problem was, this was a busy downtown strip, and there was not only a lot of stuff the fungus could consume, but a lot of people Reshef could kill. He wanted collateral damage; he wanted to force a major confrontation.

As soon as they arrived, they found a good spot to put Pyro in, and Giles quickly drew a circle around him while Rags chanted something, much to his annoyance. "What the fuck is this?"

"A protective circle," Helga told him. "Don't leave it. Once you start burning off the fungus Reshef's bound to get pissed at you. This should protect you for a minute or so."

He stared at her in disbelief, and looked uncertain, as if he wasn't sure what he should be more pissed about. "A minute? What the fuck good is that gonna do me?"

"I'll distract him," Logan said. And he would too. You wouldn't believe how much could be done within a minute until you actually fought in a battle where the last thirty seconds defined it all.

Matt was standing down the street from him. He was carrying his own water bottle, but he was wisely standing near a fire hydrant, so if he needed more he had instant access to it. Rags had ducked into an alley with Giles as soon as he was done with the protection circle, and everyone else took up positions on rooftops of the nearby buildings with their weapons of choice. Of course they'd all have only one shot before they gained Reshef's notice, but hopefully that would be all they needed.

Logan took up position in the middle of the road, leading some people to honk at him and curse him in three different languages, but then he gathered up a lot of Bob energy, making his vision turn blue, and commanded, "Get out of here."

That worked; people scattered. Almost not soon enough though, because after a moment, there was Reshef at the end of the street, glaring at him. "Didn't you learn something the first time?" The black fungus was spreading out from where he was standing like a living shadow.

"Light it up," he said to John.

John sighed, as if extremely put out, and clicked his igniters, saying, "Well, fucking flame on then." What started as little more than a spark at the end of his hands suddenly erupted into long tunnels of swirling flames that torpedoed straight for the areas beside Reshef. The flames licked the pavement, and just like he suspected, scorched it clean.

The vortexes of flame around him didn't bother Reshef at all, but he looked pissed off at the incineration of his disease. Logan felt the power surge from Reshef before he disappeared, and reappeared right in front of John, reaching out to grab him. But even though John flinched, Reshef seemed to come right up against an invisible barrier. "You think magic can hold me? I'm a god."

John idly doused the pavement around him with flames, and shrugged. "Yeah, aren't we all?"

Reshef glared at him, as his hand pushed against the invisible barrier of the protective circle, moving in by increments. Logan ran at him, focusing on the blue energy within him, popped his claws at the last second, and sliced Reshef's head off.

"Holy fuck!" John exclaimed in shock, jumping as Reshef's head went flying and his body thudded to the sidewalk in front of him, spouting oily black blood. "I thought you were just gonna distract him!"

"That's distracting."

John stared at him in wide eyed disbelief. "No it's fucking not! It's killing him!"

"No it ain't."

"But -" He stopped as a gloopy noise became quite pronounced, and they both looked down to see a new head growing out of Reshef's neck stump like a quickly inflated balloon. Even before it had fully formed, Reshef's hand grabbed Logan by the ankle and swung him bodily into the nearest building, as if he was no heavier than a mannequin made of Styrofoam.

The impact was so hard it was utterly devastating. He didn't leave a little dent in the building, he took out a huge chunk, and he could feel fragments of the façade in the back of his neck, blood leaking down his back. If he hadn't had an adamantium spine and skull and Bob's energy, his head would have easily lopped off. His consciousness seriously wavered, to the point where he knew his eyes were open but he only saw blue tinged black for a couple of moments. "You are merely an avatar," Reshef said. "Even if you were given all of Bob's power, you couldn't stand against me, meat."

"Bob?" John repeated. "That weird guy? The one who always sang?"

Logan's vision came back in a wash of blue, in time to see Reshef look back at John. John had two swirling orbs of fire ready to let loose at any moment, but he already seemed to get the idea that while the flames burnt off the fungus, they didn't seem to do anything to Reshef personally. He hadn't moved out of the circle, though. "You think he's a Human, boy? How stupid are you?"

John glowered at him, as lippy as always. "Not as stupid as you, asshole. You really think you can kill him? If Jean couldn't, you ain't got a chance, freak boy."

Reshef really didn't like getting attitude. "I can kill this entire world, chattle."

And that's when Reshef's brand new head exploded.


	10. Chapter 10

10

"Yippee kai-yaay, motherfucker!" Marc cackled, for some reason quoting Die Hard as he cocked his sniper rifle and took aim once more. Marc was on top of the sex shop/bakery combo across the street (which seemed appropriate somehow), and had a high powered rifle full of enchanted bullets. Everybody on the roofs had guns with enchanted bullets - enchanted reluctantly by Giles - save for Bren, who had a compound hunting crossbow and a small quiver of arrows with runes sacred to the Gorgons drawn on them. Rags figured they'd work just the same, and possibly hurt even more.

Logan managed to get to his knees as Marc took his second shot, shearing Reshef's right leg off below the shin, making him fall over. The opening shots belonged to Marc, mainly because it was known he and Logan and Pyro would be in close proximity, and Marc could be counted on to make precision shots that might unnerve the others. Marc had the confidence that he wouldn't miss, and of course he didn't.

"Dude, if I were you, I'd just play dead," John told Reshef, who was growing back his head once more. His leg was coming in slower.

Logan was pretty sure he'd healed up, although he still felt logy. And looking at the big hunk of missing building, he could see why. He stood up with the help of what was left of the wall, and Helga took a shot that sheared off Reshef's left arm from the elbow down.

"And you're the good guys?" John asked sarcastically. Logan gave him an evil look in reply.

Reshef's head had grown back, and he was glaring at him with bloody eyes. "You can annoy me all you wish, meat, but you can't stop me."

"Wanna bet?"

"Things ain't lookin' good for ya, man," John agreed.

Reshef gave him a sharp glance, but otherwise ignored Pyro. "How many deaths do you want on your hands? Give me the boy." With his leg and his arm grown back, he sat up and attempted to stand, but another bullet blew out his knee, and a crossbow bolt nailed his hand to the street.

It was the arrow that made him react. He yelped, and looked at the bolt like it was on fire. He yanked up his hand, pulling the bolt up with it, and made a swallowed noise of pain. "This is pointless," he snarled, getting to his feet. Logan felt the surge of energy around him, exactly the feeling before Reshef teleported, and he imagined much if not all of Bob's energy gathering in his fist before he plunged his arm deep in the dark energy of Reshef's torso.

It was like sticking his hand in a whirlpool of liquid nitrogen. It fucking hurt, but in a strangely abstract way, like it was someone else's nerves that were being frayed while the skin was turned into something beyond feeling, like stone or concrete. But he imagined Bob's energy diffusing through Reshef's darkness, and his bloody eyes bored into his, his scent as sickly sweet and rotten as decaying flesh. "You don't go 'til I say you go," Logan told him, his voice gravelly with the god energy pulsing through his system.

"Really, meat?" Reshef then plunged his arm straight through his stomach - it seemed to cleave through flesh as deftly as a machete, and he felt the sharp pain and the dull throb of infectious heat deep inside his midsection. "Don't you need a liver?"

Well, he definitely had a hold of something; Logan had no idea if he could feel his liver being squeezed. But he could feel both Bob's energy and his healing factor responding to the threat, as blood poured out the wound and splashed on the pavement as Reshef continued to fondle his internal organs.

There was dull thunk, and Reshef reacted with pain, yanking his hand out of his gut (but he didn't take anything else with, so presumably his liver was still intact) and reaching back to try and grab the arrow out of the back of his head. But Logan didn't pull his hand out of Reshef's torso, and Reshef's movement was limited. It was then that Rags appeared, holding his mirror shield, still in mid-chant. " - your servant, holy sifters -"

Reshef looked at him sharply, and Logan saw his horrified expression in Rags's shield. "No! You're not the one I want!"

There was a huge energy surge, and Logan went flying backwards, just nicking the building this time before hitting the pavement. Giles then threw the spell that Helga had unearthed, the one to annoy the gods, and it made him stay where he was as Rags finished the incantation and something started to materialize in the mirror. Logan lunged for Pyro, tackling him, making him exclaim, "What the fuck ..?!"

"Don't look!" He snapped, pinning his head to the sidewalk with his forearm. It then occurred to him that he could have let Pyro look and therefore take care of any problems with him, but that seemed like a Pyro thing to do - a massive betrayal. And he didn't generally stab people in the back. (He generally stabbed them in the front.) John tried to buck him off once, but Logan had too much adamantium in his body, and John gave up almost instantly, aware of the futility of the gesture.

The energy surge Logan felt now was like nothing he had ever felt before; it was beyond him and Reshef combined. It was the difference between a tidal wave and the explosion of a super massive black hole - at least the tidal wave was moderately restrained by gravity. This was an outpouring of energy that made the air crackle like it was bursting into flame, and he thought he heard Reshef scream before …

Nothing. There was that crescendo of energy, building up and swelling, bursting its seams and flying outward, and silence rushed in after it, filling it like air filled a vacuum. The overwhelming energy was just gone, vanished in the blink of an eye, like it never existed in the first place.

"Yer bleedin' all over me!" John complained.

Logan looked up, back at where he had last seen Reshef. He was now a grey stone lawn jockey, arm raised as if to shield his eyes, cringing slightly, anticipating the blow. But it didn't help, and he wasn't able to transport himself away in time. Rags walked up to him and smashed the statue with the shield, causing it to crumble like a sand castle. "You don't go after my protégé, wanker," Rags snapped, kicking away some of the pebbles.

Logan sat back, looking down at his gut wound. It was still closing, but he couldn't see his own internal organs anymore. John had pulled himself back up to his feet and was looking around in obvious distress. "What the fuck is going on here?!" he demanded.

That was a very good question. He wondered if he'd actually believe the truth.

* * *

In the end, Logan did something he knew he'd despise himself for: he pushed John again. He told him simply, "It was all mutants," and made him believe that Reshef was a mutant turned to stone by another mutant who had the power to turn people to stone. Now he didn't say it was Rags who had that power, but John seemed to be under the impression it was him who had it. "That explains the eyes, doesn't it?" John said to Rags, who stared at him in pure bafflement. Rags asked "What the fuck'cha talkin' about?" but John didn't understand what he said - he simply nodded, like Rags had said something interesting. Wisely, Rags let it go.

But there was the problem of what they were going to do with John. Logan figured he could let him walk, because he had helped them and he wasn't much for killing kids in cold blood, but Rogue was of the opinion that he should push John into being "decent again" if he wasn't just going to kill him. For some reason, Logan didn't like either option.

Rags decided that Bren had to do the ritual to become the agent of the Gorgons, if only to put an immediate end to some of this mess. But Logan suspected the real reason was something related to the fact that Rags was exhausted. Calling the gods clearly took it out of a person, and he wasn't young or healthy anymore.

Rogue and John argued all the way back, about what Logan wasn't sure, but Angel said something about hitting the sewers again. Logan followed him into his office, welcoming the privacy from all the others. "Wasn't Reshef our big target?"

Angel nodded absentmindedly, looking for something in his desk drawer. "I'm sure, but there's bound to be a couple of stragglers left. Once word gets out that the Gorgons took out a Horseman of the Apocalypse, I expect the rest to drift away."

"Nothing sends a "don't fuck with us" message like turning a god to stone."

"Exactly." He looked up at him, crossing his arms over his chest. "What about you?"

"What about me?"

Angel raised his eyebrows slightly, as if he thought he was perhaps teasing him. "You going back to New York? Canada?"

He hadn't actually thought about that yet. "I dunno. I was thinkin' about sticking around here for a while, if you guys could use me."

Angel scoffed, and tried very hard not to smile. "I'm sure we could find something for you to do."

"Some light filing?" he suggested sarcastically.

"How many words can you type per minute?" Angel asked, completely deadpan.

It was then that they heard the scream.

Logan led the way out of the door, and it took a moment for him to process what he was seeing. The scream had come from Rogue, who was holding on to John's arm like he had attempted to touch her and she had yanked his hand away. But they were frozen in place, and veins were now standing out in relief on John's throat, creeping up his face like snakes.

"Holy shit," he exclaimed, grabbing Rogue's arms (by the sleeves) and pulling her away. As soon as he broke their contact, John's eyes rolled up inside his head and he hit the floor in a dead faint.

Xander had jumped up on the couch, looking between them in wide eyed horror. "What the fuck was that?"

Rogue was panting, wide eyed in horror herself. "It's back," she said, looking at Logan with pleading eyes. "How the hell is it back?"

"What's back?" Xander asked, still alarmed, and making no move to get off the couch.

"Oh my god, it's true," Bren gasped.

They all looked at him. "What's true?" Logan asked first.

"The cure wears off," he explained. "There's been rumors about it on some mutant boards I lurk on, that the cure just stops working after a while." He sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. "But everybody was saying it happened to a friend of a friend of theirs, which made it all sound like bullshit."

"What d'ya mean it wears off?" Rogue demanded. "It's supposed to be a cure, in like permanent!"

"It doesn't change your DNA," Sid said, sounding like he'd actually read up on this. "It simply suppresses the expression of some genes while it lasts. They jumped the gun by calling it an actual cure; it's simply a temporary remedy. For now, there's nothing that can rewrite your DNA in a harmless way."

Rogue glared at him like he'd just betrayed her. "And you didn't tell me this?"

Sid stared back at her guilelessly. "You didn't ask."

"So your power is what?" Xander asked. "Doing freaky things to people?"

"She takes their power and their life energy," Marc told him dismissively. Xander seemed surprised by this information, and Logan wondered why. Hadn't he seen enough strangeness in his life?

Rogue looked up at Logan meaningfully, and reached out to touch him before she remembered that she couldn't, and tucked her hands under her arms. "Take it away."

He wasn't sure what she meant at first. "Huh?"

"Bob could do it, right? He could take my powers away permanently. Why don't you?"

Oh holy crap.

11

Logan wasn't surprised to find himself sitting poolside, although he was surprised to find himself holding a drink that seemed to have needless amounts of paper umbrellas and cubed fruit skewered on colorful straws. Logan grabbed a handful of them and tossed them aside, and the liquid amount in the glass seemed to reduce by half. "Nobody likes a smart ass, Bob," he snapped. The sky was as deep and bright a blue as the water in the pool, and the lounge chair he was on. Also the swimming trunks he was wearing. Swim trunks? Well, knowing Bob, it could have been worse. Could have been a Speedo.

The water in the pool rippled, and Bob broke the surface. "Now what's wrong with a Speedo?" he asked, smoothing his wet sun blond hair back. "I happen to like 'em. There's nothing like the feeling of a banana hammock." He gave him a big shit eating grin as he climbed out of the pool, water sheeting him off him like he was made of sealskin, although his body had the general appearance of pure beefcake. He was wearing a Speedo all right, only it was one that he hoped didn't exist in reality - it looked like fake leather, and man was it all sorts of disturbing.

"You and Marc work these bits out in advance, don't ya?"

"Naw. He just has a great sense of humor." He walked over to the green lounge chair across from him, his wet feet slapping on the Italian tiles lining the pool area, and he stretched out on the chair as languidly as a cat. Somehow he suddenly had a frou-frou drink in his hand. "So what's the problem, mate?"

"Problem? Who says I have a problem?" Bob just raised an eyebrow at him. "Okay. I'm a hypocrite."

"Why? 'Cause you wouldn't take Rogue's power away? "

He glared at him. "If you know already, why the fuck did you ask?"

Bob grinned at him, flashing all those pearly whites. "That's what I do. If nobody likes a smart ass, how come I've been married a zillion times?"

"Because you make people believe they love you."

"Ouch. Now that hurts." He sipped his drink, and then eyed it dubiously. "Too much pineapple."

Logan slugged down what was left of his drink, and tossed the empty glass into the pool. "Are you ever gonna get serious, or do I storm off now?"

He sighed heavily. "Mate, you're not a hypocrite. You're her dad. You'll support whatever she does, you're pro-choice all the way, but you don't want to pull the trigger. Understandable."

"I am not her dad."

"In a surrogate sense you are, and she relies on that. I don't blame you at all. I'll feel no guilt if I shut off her powers, and I can always turn 'em back on again."

"You think she'll change her mind?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. She just might miss the hero biz."

"Why? It sucks."

"So why do you do it?"

He shrugged, and suddenly wished he had another drink. Not so coincidentally, one appeared right next to his chair. This time it had an abundance of pink flamingo swizzle sticks in it. "Somebody's gotta. It's what I'm good for."

"Now now, don't ruin a nice little truth with self-deprecation. You're not worried about Magneto gettin' his powers back?"

"I was for one second, then I remembered that Mystique would get her powers back too."

"And that's a good thing?"

Logan couldn't help but chuckle darkly. "She's gonna fuckin' kill him. He betrayed her, sold her out, and that bitch holds a grudge. Mags may have the more overwhelming power, but she's an expert at infiltration and assassination. She could kill that fucker armed with nothing more than a plastic spork. And you know, Magneto's so arrogant I bet he's forgotten all about her, which just makes it extra funny. He probably won't remember her until right before she kills him. I hope she rips his intestines out and strangles him with 'em."

Bob chuckled, setting his drink aside. "Bitter much?"

"Hell no. I just wanna ringside seat. And maybe some popcorn."

"Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned."

"Especially if the woman's a psychopath."

"That helps loads," Bob agreed with a nod.

Logan tried his new drink, pulling out the swizzle sticks, and found it a bit better than the previous one. He still had no idea what it was, though. "If Reshef was comin', you shoulda warned us."

"I didn't know. I'm not psychic."

He stared at him, giving him the evilest look he could muster, but Bob just grinned back in a totally infuriating way. Logan wanted to get up and rip it off his face, but they both knew he wasn't going to do that, mainly because he couldn't. "So it's just coincidence you left me to take on a plague god?"

Bob shrugged, trying and failing to look totally innocent. "It does happen occasionally. Coincidence, I mean."

"Uh-huh. And if anyone else had said that, I might believe 'em."

"You kicked his ass."

"That's not the point. The point is you gave me your powers and stayed away 'cause you figured my healing factor could take it. What if it couldn't?"

"I categorically deny that I did that on purpose. But mate, of course your system could handle him. Your immune system is the most advanced on the entire planet."

"He was a god."

"A god of sickness. If his sickness didn't kill ya within five seconds, it was never gonna."

He rubbed his eyes, sure Bob had done this on purpose but unable to prove it, and in too pissy a mood to acknowledge his point. Did it even matter in the long run? "You comin' back in time for the festivities?" He finally asked, changing the subject.

"What would those be?"

"Bren becoming the Gorgons' Chosen."

"Ah. Well, I'll give it a shot, but I can't promise anything. The kid'll be okay."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow at that. "I thought you weren't psychic."

Bob held his hands out expansively. "I'm not. But with people like you and Angel lookin' out for him, he'll be fine. He's got two daddies, and they're both pit bulls. And that's not even throwing in his boyfriend, Count Hollywood North."

"No Canadian jokes."

"Oh good lord, mate, I wouldn't dare." He then grinned savagely. "In front of you."

Logan never wavered in his gaze. "Do I have enough of your energy to kick your ass?"

"Nope. But you can give it a shot. These shorts make me feel like wrestling."

"Okay, yeah, now that's not gonna happen."

He pouted sarcastically. "Spoil my fun." His grin came back, easy and sly, and definitely never to be trusted. Bob's self-applied moniker as the "King of All Liars" came back to him, and never seemed more appropriate than it was now. In his own way, he was far more dangerous than Reshef could ever be.

He almost told him of Camaxtli's brief, tormenting visit, but didn't, as he surely knew. This was Bob's mindscape, and there were no secrets here … except the ones Bob chose to keep. Bob must have known, and the fact that he wasn't bringing it up meant he didn't think there was a point. For the moment.

Reshef was taken care of, but honestly nothing was settled. What would happen to Bren after he became the chosen of the Gorgons? It hadn't done Rags any favor. And now Rogue was hanging around, with her powers back and no desire for them, merely the first obvious sign of a problem that could come back to haunt them all. And he still had no idea what to do with John, as "pushing" him in one direction or another seemed too much like the brainwashing he went through.

And then there was the big thing. He hadn't meant to do it, and wasn't even sure how he did it in the first place. He was just experimenting with Bob's power, using it to track people beyond his immediate area, and he found himself locating people he knew. "Did you know?" Logan asked, not bothering to specify who he was talking about. Bob would know.

He shook his head, revealing that his hair was impossibly dry. "No, I'm just as shocked as you are. You know I try and avoid telepaths."

This time he believed him. Bob had no great love for the man and wouldn't have tried to conceal the knowledge.

It was why he wasn't ready to go back to New York and hadn't told anyone. What did he want to do with this information? Was he angry? Relieved? Suspicious?

Xavier was alive. He didn't know how, but he was. And he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel about it.

Or what he was supposed to do about it.

* * *

The End


End file.
